


Dreams From the Sargasso

by RivetingFabrications



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M, Near Drowning, pirate! jason, some choking i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivetingFabrications/pseuds/RivetingFabrications
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timothy Drake ventured out to solve the mystery behind his parents' deaths, but being taken captive by the most wanted pirate in history hadn't been part of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> sooo this was just an idea I got at the middle of the night and decided to write out. Hope y'all enjoy!

Tim lurches back to the realm of consciousness vomiting seawater, the sole of someone’s boot pressing unforgivingly into his gut. He splutters incoherently before the pressure thankfully releases. Immediately he rolls onto his side to gasp and cough weakly, but when he raises his hand to wipe his mouth, pain shoots through it. It’s too loud around him, and the backdrop is a constant noise of people yelling and shouting, too much movement for his confused head to piece out the individual conversations.

“Well, lad, you done heaving up the rest of your stomach?” There’s a sincerely amused voice, and Tim cringes at the loudness hurting his ears and throbbing head. There's the successive response of a hearty round of laughter, all coarse, all rough, and Tim unwillingly opens his eyes to take in his new surroundings. He remembers gunfire, shouting, and the captain that he had bought passage from dying –

This time he all but sits up like a bolt of lightning, before a shock of pain lances through his dominant arm again. It gives out under his weight, unable to support him, and he collapses back onto the deck, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Easy there, kid.” A large shadow stoops over him, blocking the dying rays of sunlight, and Tim stiffens when a calloused, blistered hand grips his shoulder, hauling him up. There’s a flash of a grin, the crisp scent of gunpowder and the salty brine of the sea, before the ever present gust of wind over sea and sails chills Tim through his soaked clothes and down to the bones.

“W-where am I?” he croaks. This isn’t the ship he’d bought passage on. He looks around frantically, ignoring the pain momentarily. With a sinking heart, he puts the pieces together, and looks up at the flag.

Oh, no. The red skull that’s feared in all seven seas stands proudly against the dying rays of sunset, the emblem a testament to the flotsam littering the ocean that was once Tim’s passage away from Gotham, floating oil-soaked wood still burning forlornly. Regaining some of his strength, Tim shoves away the person holding him up, stumbling a bit until his back hits the railing.

“Oho! Looks like this one didn’t appreciate you rescuing ‘im, Cap!” More raucous laughter, but it dies down quickly. Tim takes in the appearance of the man who had been holding him up. The man’s a vaguely familiar face he knows from wanted posters, and the way he shrewdly eyes Tim makes his throat go dry.

The posters really don’t do him justice.

Captain Jason Todd of the Outlaw pirates, gives him a lazy but leering smile before speaking. “If he knows what’s good for him, he will.” Tim can’t repress a shiver.

“Why’d you rescue me?” Little flashes of memory are returning to him; the pirates boarding the ship after the captain had refused to surrender, much to his crew’s horror, Tim’s attempted escape gone horribly wrong, the roiling waves tossing him about like a ragdoll  – it’s beginning to come back to him now. The pirate captain only grins at him.

“I thought you were a woman,” he sneers, licking his lips as he assesses Tim, an eye traveling up and down his body approvingly. Tim’s eyes widen and he flushes in embarrassment and shame, and Captain Todd’s crew erupts in further laughter like broken records. “But, more importantly, who _are_ you, lad?”

Tim doesn’t hesitate. “Tim. Tim Jackson,” he lies through his teeth. Captain Todd makes a show of nodding his head, tilting his head and humming.

“A strong name, that. Doesn’t quite fit someone of your stature, though.” Tim’s eyes narrow at the jab about his height. When the pirate takes another step closer, Tim edges away as well as he can, trying to maintain the same amount of distance between him and the most wanted man in the world. “However, it does beget the question, _what was_ this _doing on your person?”_ Jason smirks and dangles a familiar ring on a silver chain from his fingers. Tim’s heart sinks, a hand flying to his neck where the ring _should_ have rested beneath his clothes. Jason continues blithely, “It’s a _very_ fine piece of silver, I must say, and it _does_ match the rest of your clothes; wouldn’t go with any of ours, I’m afraid. Still, I’m informed that’s the Drake crest, from Gotham herself, and I must ask, if you’re Tim Jackson, then are you a _thief_?”

Tim inhales sharply. His lie is transparent, and there’s no saving him now. “Go to hell,” he snaps. Jason’s eyes gleam, and then he bridges the gap between them in two steps in what would have taken Tim three. Tim gasps, eyes flying open when Jason squeezes his injured arm roughly, fingers hooking around his chin, forcing his face up to meet the pirate’s eyes.

“I’ll give ya a chance to take that back, kid,” breathes Captain Todd, his eyes stark like winter and hard as flint. “I saved your sorry arse in that water instead of leaving you to drown, and I expect to be _thanked_. Don’t you have any manners? You’re awfully rude for a rich boy.”

Tim struggles futilely, but the man’s eyes are cold and unforgiving, and this is a show of power, to establish the man’s authority in front of his crew. Tim knows that if he resists for much longer, the pirate won’t hesitate to make an example of him.

“I – I apologize,” gasps out Tim, when fingers begin to curl threateningly around his throat. “f-for saying that.”

Jason watches lazily through hooded eyes. The rest of the crew is ominously silent, watching the exchange. “And you’re about to apologize for being an ungrateful little shit, aren’t ya?”

Tim growls a little, but Jason’s fingers dig warningly into his pulse point just under the bone. The growl turns into a short hitch of breath. “I – I’m sorry for being an ungrateful shit,” Tim gasps out. “A- and thank–” Even though the man’s fingers relax just enough for him to suck in air, the words are still hard to get out. “y-you for not leaving me to drown.”

The fingers abandon his throat, leaving Tim to swallow for air desperately. Jason steps back, a slow, satisfied smile of approval gracing his rugged face. “Not bad, didn’t even have to be prompted for the last bit, rich boy,” he sneers. Turning around, his gaze scans over his crew briefly. “Men! We don’t want to be rude to our posh little rich boy, do we?” The condescending tone provokes laughter from the rest of the crew. “Let’s give him a taste of true hospitality! Roy, get him to the brig, and see that his arm gets treated. We wouldn’t want the pretty boy too bruised up, would we now?”

Tim closes his eyes against the howls of laughter, wishing desperately that he could wake up any second now. An arm even larger than Captain Todd’s grips his shoulder, anchoring him to his new reality. Tim manages to twist around, coming face to face with a chest belonging to a redhead who shoots him a wry grin.

“You heard the cap, runt. March.” The man, presumably Roy steers him below deck. Surrounded by mocking grins, Tim can only face forward, resigning himself to the mercy of Captain Jason Todd.


	2. Brig Fiasco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I love how Tim can be both vulnerable, dorky, and downright brilliant all in one package.

Tim scowls, huddling himself in the farthest corner of the brig. Roy had fixed up his arm, setting it in a makeshift splint, but it still throbs every so often. At least the splint had forced them to manacle him with his wrists in front of him, he thinks sullenly. He leans against the damp wood, listening to the waves of the ocean crash against it. His clothes are still damp, and the chilly air of the brig only worsens it. He contemplates launching himself at the next pirate who opens the door, fighting his way up to the deck, but he knows that it’ll be futile. Even if he could steal a rowboat, there’s no way he’d make it to land.

The keys hanging on the hook near the entrance mock him, and he closes his eyes and plots despite the way his empty stomach growls at him. Eventually the ship will have to dock somewhere for supplies, and that’ll be Tim’s moment to act. They’ll take precautions to prevent him from escaping, but it’s the only solution he can think of. He has a generic idea of the ship’s layout, and starts formulating a plan to get up to the deck before he hears footsteps and loud laughter. They laugh an awful lot for pirates, he thinks glumly, more than aristocrats ever did.

He doesn’t want to think about those sort of implications.

The door swings open, and three pirates saunter in, all leering at Tim in a way that sends shivers crawling up his spine. One snatches the keys off the hook, twirling them around a finger.

“We were told to give you fresh clothes, rich boy, and dinner too.” One’s carrying a bowl of something that looks completely unappetizing. Tim is loath to admit that it looks better than his disastrous attempts to cook in the past. Regardless, if he’s going to escape, he’ll have to eat it to keep up his strength. The pirate gives him a smirk and then promptly begins to devour the food. Tim gives him an incredulous look, unable to believe his eyes.

“A rich kid like you wouldn’t have eaten it anyway, would ya?” jeers the man, and Tim glares at him. His traitorous stomach growls in response, and Tim grinds his teeth together as the men howl in amusement.

“As for the clothes, we didn’t have anything fit for a prince, so you’ll just have to make do with this!” The third pirate pushes his way to the front, and to Tim’s horror, it’s an extremely ruffly and lacey _dress,_ much like the ones Janet Drake wore in her old portraits and photos.

“Now, keep still, pretty thing, we’re going to have to take your measurements,” smirks the second pirate, unlocking the brig door. Tim scrambles to his feet, squaring his jaw and shoulders, feeling the last thread of his patience _snap_. The first words out of his mouth are ice-sharp and worthy of the son Janet had tried to mold him into.

“ _Step inside this brig and I will break all of your jaws_.” Anger and resentment boils before freezing over inside Tim. He can’t feel anything but coldness and antipathy raging in him now. The pirates halt their movements at the frigid expression on Tim’s face, somewhat unnerved. Then the one unlocking the brig door snorts derisively. Tim can't blame him. It's three against one scrawny handcuffed kid.

“Better hold still kid, or you’d better not be just bark with no bite,” growls the pirate swinging open the door. The bowl clatters to the floor. The dress follows after, crumpling to the ground with a whisper of silk. The brig’s too small for the three men to enter simultaneously. Tim narrows his eyes. He can defend the territory that he’s unconsciously marked out for himself, that being the constraints of the prison he’s in. Then a beefy arm snakes out to make a grab for him, as one pirate enters his space, and he belatedly recognizes he’s going about this the _completely_ wrong way. Why the hell should he be defending territory that’s a _jail_ cell?

Tim realizes he can _win_ this. He won’t make it off the ship, but at the least he can prevent himself from being marked as an easy target to bully. He smirks at the man, confidence resurging. It's a fight in cramped quarters, and he can use that to his advantage, if he riles them up first. “Last warning, _pirate_ ,” he sneers, a cold smile twisting on his lips.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re not going to get away with this!” snarls one pirate, gnashing his teeth as Tim hurriedly turns the key in the lock to imprison them. The other two are concussed from when they had collided with each other in their attempts to snatch Tim up in such a tight space.

“Yeah, I know,” he responds grimly, twirling the key along his fingers in mimicry of the pirate had earlier. His hands are still handcuffed, and he doesn’t know where the keys for the manacles are, but he’ll manage somehow. “But I’ll offer you a deal. I could leave you three here to be the butt of all the jokes on this ship for when they find you, but I’m a nice person. We can go back and pretend that I’ve been sitting where you guys are this whole time, instead of you oafs actually _dragging_ me out of there to be your punching bag.” Tim’s not looking so great himself; his shirt’s in tatters after someone had pulled out a knife, and he’s the one actually nursing a bruised jaw, a few nicks, and a bloody nose, but the point is that he’s _won_.

The pirate stares at him incredulously and gestures at his two incapacitated crewmates. “There’s no bloody explanation for _those_ two!”

Oh. Right. Tim sort of didn’t account for that, what with him practically fighting for his life. He shrugs as well as he can, his injured arm screaming at him to stop _moving_ because the splint broke in the scuffle. He offers a sheepish smile. “Uh, I’ll help you carry them out? I mean, we could blame them passing out on too much booze?” The pirate looks supremely unimpressed. Tim sighs. “Or, I could let you out and then you can pretend that you weren’t here to begin with?”

“I’ll knock you dead the moment you unlock that door, buddy,” sneers the man. Tim groans, mashing a palm to his forehead and scrubbing his face.

“I give up. Fine, whatever, stay there until someone finds you three. I’m keeping the key though.” So much for his plan. Tim picks up the knife that had been kicked to the corner during the fray, tucking it into his belt. He doesn’t really know what to do now. He can hear people moving along the deck above him, so he opts to gain a better idea of the ship’s layout before he’s inevitably discovered. Maybe if through some fantastic luck he makes it to the deck, he can fling the brig key into the ocean. He won’t deny that particular idea is rather appealing. Just before he can take the stairs, his heart nearly beats out of his chest when he hears someone’s voice and loud footsteps.

“Hey, you guys are taking forever; just how much are you harassing the runt?” Tim lurches backwards just in time before the door flies open to nearly deck him in the face. There’s an awkward moment of silence as Tim comes face to chest with Roy. Roy’s mouth is sort of comically half-open. No one moves. Then Tim’s fingers fumble with the dagger in his belt. He curses when it clatters to the floor, shattering the moment and kicking time back into gear.

Everything is a blur of motion. The pirate behind him yells, “Get the brat!” and Roy launches forward, expecting Tim to dive for the knife. Tim dodges the tackle, sidestepping the redhead as he bolts up the steps. Abruptly Roy’s hand latches onto Tim’s ankle like a snake, and Tim cries out in pain when he trips and hits the floor, injured arm trapped under his stomach. Roy pins him down easily, straddling his waist as Tim gasps for breath and squirms indignantly under Roy’s weight.

“Stop – ugh – struggling!” growls Roy, splaying a hand on the nape of Tim’s neck and pushing him harder into the floor. Tim groans, lips parting for air. His frenzied mind goes over all the possible ways this could play out – and none end well. He goes limp, pressing his forehead into the solid wood, trying to regulate his air. Roy adjusts his grip on him, but doesn’t let up. “Jeez, just how tenacious are you?” mutters Roy, now surveying the damage Tim has caused. Tim manages a short grunt of laughter, but doesn’t respond. It hurts too much, now that the adrenalin’s wearing off.

“Hey! Somebody get the captain for me!” calls Roy. Tim dizzily considers pleading with Roy to shift his weight off his hurt arm. He doesn’t bother; the pirate doesn’t owe him anything, would probably end up purposefully injure him further. He feels running footsteps, hears someone pause in his tracks, say _holy fuck what happened_ , then rush off again. Belatedly he realizes what it must look like, with the remnants of his shirt practically draped over him and Roy pinning him down, and a flush blooms over his cheeks. He presses his face further into the floorboards, wishing he could just sink through them and into the ocean.

More footsteps. It’s a little easier to breathe now. Tim spits blood until the floor. Roy’s weight shifts, and Tim tries not to whimper at the pain lancing down his arm. “Are you still going to fight me?” asks Roy. Tim exhales, the breath sagging out of him. He shakes his head. Roy’s hand releases its pressure on his neck. “Good.” The pirate settles back on his haunches. The lighting changes; Tim sees the darkness of someone's shadow towering over him. 

“Roy? The hell is going on here?” growls Captain Todd’s unmistakable voice. Tim panics, bucks against Roy’s weight, but Roy’s hands squeeze warningly again. He stills. What other choice does he have? He’s lost any advantage he might have had. He won’t give up, he tells himself, but when Roy redistributes his weight Tim gasps, closing his eyes to block out the pain. Thoughts of freedom and escape fly out the window.

“Ask the kid,” replies Roy. Tim hears the pirate captain stoop down, boots coming to a stop before him before a hand fists itself in his hair, wrenching him upwards. Tim hisses in pain at the uncomfortable angle, opening his eyes to meet Jason’s menacing ones. An involuntary and poorly concealed shiver ripples through Tim. The situation's too far out of hand for him to regain control.  

"Start talking, boy," hisses Captain Todd, fingers digging into his scalp. Tim glares furiously at him, but his eyes clench shut in unwilling submission when his neck is forced into an uncomfortable arch. "Before I really do decide to kill you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So there was a fairly decent response for more of this, and I had a really good idea for this fic so I decided to just write it. However, in order to make it not jump around out of chronological order too much, I wrote and posted this first. The real part I enjoyed writing should be in the next chapter. If y'all want more leave a message or kudos :) I always look forward to them and they make my day ^^
> 
> Critique is always welcomed; Tim can be difficult for me to write, so feedback on his characterization is sorely needed and wanted!


	3. Call a spade a spade

“I want to up the ante.”

The raucous noise of the ship dies down in the lantern light. Tim steels himself, leaning against the back of the chair in a display he hopes is casual but resolute. Captain Todd appraises him, a feral grin giving nothing of his thoughts away.

Tim is sitting at the dubbed ‘pro table’ for gambling, perched in the mess hall of Captain Todd’s ship. He’s under Roy’s supervision while away from the brig, and while he’s confused about being allowed out, he suspects that it’s a scheme of Captain Todd to test him after the fiasco regarding the stupid dress and the three meatheads. Roy claims that Tim's allowed out under his watch for the night because ‘I don't want to miss gambling night for the spoils of victory babysitting a runt,’ but Tim’s positive that’s an excuse although Roy’s lackadaisical attitude would back up the claim. Still, Roy can’t be Captain Todd’s first mate for nothing, and he resolves to learn as much as he can. Tim is still uncertain as to how he didn’t end up dead after _that_ particular mess in the brig and his paltry explanation, but it doesn’t matter now. He has to focus on the task at hand.

The whole evening, while the pirates had drank and partied and gambled loot from Tim’s former ship, Tim had watched those at Roy’s table play poker while he quietly learned the rules. A taboo game in the socialite world, poker irresistibly drew Tim’s undivided attention. The highest hand he’d seen so far was a four-of-a-kind, the win awarded to the redhead woman. There’re many rules, almost too many to keep track of, and Tim had been content to quietly munch on dinner and steal bread rolls when no one was looking, all while observing the proceedings.

Until Captain Todd had pulled out the Drake ring. He’d kissed it devilishly, tossing it onto the center of the table to increase his bet. Grinning smugly at him, Captain Todd had cracked some insult that Tim couldn’t even recall anymore. Regardless, it had worked its intended effect. Infuriated, Tim had seen red. He doesn’t recall challenging Jason for the ring, doesn’t recall slamming his fists on the table loud enough to attract the full attention of the mess hall, but now everyone is clustered around the table to watch the amusing display of the still manacled prisoner challenging the captain in a single hand of poker. Tim had given up his belt for the ante, and while everyone had raised an eyebrow to ogle him unbuckling his pants in public (he couldn't blame them, it _had_  looked ridiculous), they had stared at the belt covetously when he announced that it was genuine leather and that the design was inlaid with silver.

“Interesting. What’re you proposing, rich boy?” Captain Todd asks, a gleam in his eyes that fills Tim with equal amounts of unease and determination.

“It’s Timothy,” he retorts back. “And I want safe passage to Hispaniola.” There’s a ripple through the crowd at that, some murmurs, some derisive snorts, some exclamations, but they all fade quickly.

Captain Todd only raises an eyebrow. “That’s a lot you’re asking for, for me to go off course just for a lad. You’ve got nothing of equal value to match that and nothing I want from ya.”

“The Drakes will compensate you the cost of the voyage and for any repairs required,” responds Tim, refusing to look away when the pirate leans forward intently. _This is beyond stupid,_ his mind screams at him. He _knows_ better than to play a high-stakes game without complete knowledge of all the rules, but Tim’s tired of being treated like dirt, and since he still miraculously retains possession of his life after the meathead-dress debacle, he figures he doesn’t have much left to lose.

“You got nothing of value on ya _at the moment_ , rich boy, and I don’t need an aristocrat’s empty word. There’s no guarantee you can make I’d trust that you won’t report us to the relevant authorities the second you’re on dry land. _And_ ,” here Jason leans forward further, his grin morphing into a wolfish smirk, “even if you became my _woman_ , that _still_ wouldn’t match what you’re asking o’us.” Taunts and jeers fly in Tim’s face, but he doesn’t bat an eye or blush. Jason raises a hand and the voices extinguish once again. “However, how about this? You win, we’ll set you down near a port. And ‘cause I’m generous, it’ll even be inhabited. If I win…you’ll let me do whatever I like to you for a _week_.”

Catcalls erupt once again, and Tim keenly feels the loss of his belt and the realization that he does in fact have a lot at stake after all. Jason smirks, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head before balancing on the back legs of the chair. “C’mon darling, I don’t bite. _Much_. It’ll be a good time.” He jerks forward to suddenly snap his teeth in Tim’s face teasingly. Tim jolts backward a bit, scowling furiously at the reveal of weakness. He sees Roy poorly conceal a mirthful grin from the corner of his eye. Tim glares, knocking back a shot of _something_ that burns all the way down. He viciously slams the glass on the table much to the pirates’ amusement.

“Three days,” Tim counteroffers stubbornly, resisting the urge to gag from the whiskey’s effects.

“Kiddo, this is a ship, not a market stall. Bargaining isn’t a courtesy I _have_ to extend,” rebuffs Jason. “One week. Take or leave it before I raise it to a _month_.”

Tim’s teeth grind together. “Is there anything _else_ you want?” Tim asks, hiding his desperation behind frustration. If he stops to think about it, he’d realize the two are one and the same.

“Nope.” Captain Todd pops the ‘p’ loudly and as obnoxiously as possible. A tiny growl slips out of Tim’s throat before he can rein it in.

“Fine. So if I win, I get my belt, the ring, and my freedom back?” Tim squares his shoulders.

Captain Todd nods, swallowing down more rum. “And you do whatever I ask of ya for the week if you lose, kid. If I tell you to bend over, you’d better damn well bend over.”

Tim glowers, mind skimming quickly through the cards most likely to be dealt next. “I accept,” replies Tim grimly. The whispers and calls swell again like a storm as the man acting as dealer flicks out the cards. Tim leaves his remaining face down on the counter.

“Not going to look at your cards, rich boy?” Captain Todd drawls, downing a gulp of rum and slamming the empty cask onto the table where it’s immediately replaced.

“I don’t need to,” responds Tim grimly. He needs to eliminate the rest of the competition; this is between him and Jason Todd. If anyone at the table calls or raises, he’s got nothing left to match their bid, and he’s tired of having his pride getting stomped into the dust. He’s gotten a general idea of the table players’ personalities since they started gambling; if he feigns ignorance of the betting order and recklessly casts his lot, they’ll probably fold to let the foolhardy newbie get his dues and chalk his actions up to ignorance. “All in.” There’s a loud _ooooh_ from the audience. He locks eyes with Captain Todd, folding his arms awkwardly. He forgets he’s manacled and injured sometimes. The motion was meant to be defiant. Roy glances uncertainly at Tim.

“Kid, this is your first time playing, maybe you should reconsider–” Captain Todd cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“Let the kid live a little, Roy. It’s high time someone took him down a few pegs and taught him the meaning of being humble.”

“You saying I’m cocky?” Tim all but growls. _Pot, meet kettle_ , he thinks in irritation. Jason barely spares him a glance.

“I’m saying, kid, that you’re smart. Too smart. That’ll get you in trouble without proper experience. Like now. All in.” He smirks at the murmurs sweeping the crowd once again. He discards two cards that are replaced immediately.

Roy sighs. “Fold.” Jason clucks his tongue.

“Bad form, Roy.” Roy only snorts in retaliation.

“This is between you and the kiddo; why else are you going along with this?”

“I fold as well.” The other black haired man at the table leans backwards, idly watching the events play out. The red haired woman only raises her eyebrows at Jason before folding as well.

“We already know the outcome of this game, Captain,” she purrs in amusement, getting up. She pats Tim on the head, which makes him bristle inwardly at being treated like a child. “I shall retire for the night. I wish you luck, little rich boy, though it won’t save you now,” she laughs before disappearing.

Jason grins at Tim lazily, taking another swig of rum. “You heard Kory, brat. Still want to do this?”

There’s no backing out, not at this point, and everyone in this room and outside knows it. Tim narrows his eyes in defiance. He shouldn’t be wrong. It’s his first time playing this, it’s true, and this is incredibly risky and dumb, but he runs his head through the mental lists in his head of sequences and possible combinations once again. If his calculations are right, Jason has _junk. Nil. Zilch_. He doesn’t understand why Jason’s still matching Tim’s wager, doesn’t understand what sort of bluff Jason is trying, though he had expected Jason to discard three cards. It doesn’t matter. The cards Jason is holding are worthless, and the die has already been cast. He spares Jason an insolent grin of his own. “Positive,” he answers.

“Reveal,” calls someone. Tim shows his hand. There’s a quick murmur of _ohs_ and _ahs_.

“Not bad, kid, not bad at all,” hums Captain Todd. “Ain’t _quite_ just beginner’s luck that snared ya that four o’a kind.” His eyes parse Tim knowingly. Tim blinks innocuously at him, feigning ignorance. Then the pirate’s smile becomes triumphant, eyes gleaming brighter than ever. Tim grits his teeth. He _can’t_ be wrong.

“Sorry kiddo, better luck next time.” He flips his cards over.

“Huh?” Tim blinks at Jason’s hand, eyes furrowing in confusion. Tim had been right, Jason’s cards were _garbage_. “You don’t even have a pair –” The crowd erupts in cheers, laughter, and provocative whistles before Tim can finish his sentence.

Roy snorts. “That’s a royal straight flush, kid. Best hand in the game. You done goofed.” He stands up, pushing his chair backwards with the movement. The black haired man pats Tim’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Enjoy your night you two,” he says dryly. “Go easy on the kid, Jay.”

Captain Todd snorts, collecting his earnings. Tim's belt and ring vanishes off the table. “That’s Captain to _you_ , Dick.” The swarm of pirates witnessing Tim’s stupendously ridiculous defeat begins to disperse, leaving Tim humiliated and still gawking at Jason’s hand, trying to process the facts of his defeat.

“What’s a royal straight flush again? Or, well, a flush?” he asks weakly, face burning in mortification at his stupidity. His pride is shattering even as he speaks and he can’t even try and pull himself together. Jason grins hugely at him, deliberately stalking over to Tim’s seat like a cat cornering its prey. Tim fights two urges: one to smack the stupid smile off Jason’s face and another to hide his flaming face in his hands. Instead he sits stiffly, his lips pressed tightly together and hands clasped together in his lap. He struggles to maintain his poker face as Jason’s arms cage him against the chair. At this distance, Tim can smell the rum and aftertaste of cigarettes on his breath.

“Well kid, I’d have to say that the latter term rather aptly describes the rosy color in your cheeks,” the pirate captain murmurs, face so close to Tim’s that the younger man hardly dares to inhale. Abruptly Captain Todd propels Tim onto his feet. The younger man bites back a yelp when he’s spun around, back pressing against the captain’s chest. “But, those are questions for another time. _You’re mine, kid_.” The last word is breathed hotly into Tim’s ear, and Tim swallows thickly as he’s steered in the direction of the captain’s quarters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say I’ve never played actual poker except for some Texas Holdem with friends (we used pebbles/candy as chips xD), and I’m so terrible at it that it's fantastic. Sorry for any mistakes! Please correct me if it’s wrong and how to improve it! 
> 
> Also I know that Dick isn’t technically in the outlaws, but I figured that I’d just toss him in Jason’s crew because why not. I don’t really have too much knowledge of people Jason’s worked with before, so if there’s anyone you’d like to see in the pirate gang drop a comment :P I’ve been considering Ravager but I don’t know much about her except that she’s a badass XD.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Comments, kudos, and critique would be lovely <3


	4. Seed of a Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for such a long wait, if you're still following this. I've been really busy for the last two weeks, and had quite a few off days as well. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter.
> 
> And here, have some semi drunk Tim.
> 
> Also, this was inspired by this star trek pic http://www.deviantart.com/art/ST-Butt-Pirate-253174243 it's kirk/spock you have been warned lmao

Tim’s heartrate is elevated with no signs of slowing as the lock clicks behind him.

“Well, rich boy, you’re not going to renege on your wager, are you?” Jason’s voice is amused and smug. Tim stiffens. He can’t deny that it’s an _extremely_ appealing idea.

“A deal’s a deal,” he mutters glumly. Jason hums in agreement.

“That’s right, pretty boy. Which is why you’re going to wear _this_.” Jason stoops down to rummage through an unlocked chest. While the pirate is preoccupied, Tim takes the opportunity to examine the room. For the most part it’s quite cluttered, random odds and ends of what Tim suspects is loot stuffed into places where the motion of the ship won’t dislodge them.

There’s a bed bolted to the wall as well, though he suspects that judging from the quantity of things piled there that Jason doesn’t normally sleep there. There’s a pile of cushions stacked haphazardly on the floor that looks far more slept in than the bed. Still, now that he’s analyzing for clues about his kidnapper, there’s a certain organization to what appeared at first to be a disorganized mess.

All thoughts grind to an abruptly screeching halt when Jason turns around, grinning and tosses another dress at him. True, it’s not as frilly as the last one, it’s a simple white chemise, but Tim glares vehemently at the pirate captain.

“You can’t be serious,” he protests. Captain Todd only rolls his eyes.

“Except that I am.” He gestures for Tim to get a move on. Tim balks.

“How long am I supposed to wear this for?” he stalls.

“If you’re not dressed in that within the next twenty seconds, you’ll be wearing it for the duration of the week. In front of my crew,” drawls Captain Todd.

Gritting his teeth, Tim stares daggers at the offending garment before reluctantly turning around to drag his shirt off.

“Breeches off as well, pretty boy,” calls Jason smugly. “I didn’t take your belt for nothing, you know.”

“Shut up,” mutters Tim. He pretends he doesn’t feel Jason’s eyes roving down the expanse of his back as he shrugs the chemise on, hitching it around his waist to unlace his breeches before shucking them off unwillingly. The whisper of cheap lace brushes his skin before he reluctantly finishes changing, turning around to face the pirate.

Jason wolf whistles, and Tim’s ears turn beet red. “I changed my mind, I think I’ll be keeping this show to myself. C’mere.”

“I need a drink,” mutters Tim, stalking forward. He brazenly meets the captain’s eyes, daring him to say anything even as he steps within arm’s reach.

“That can be arranged,” retorts Jason, yanking him forward. The pirate laughs easily, tipping himself and Tim backwards until they fall into the cushions. Tim yelps, off balanced and flailing a bit, but then Jason makes an almost-chastising sound that makes Tim silence his objections, albeit reluctantly. He squirms uncomfortably, the pirate captain far too close for comfort until Jason sits up, forcing Tim to do so as well.

The younger man fights back the urge to squirm as Captain Todd arranges him to his liking. Tim’s legs are draped over one of Jason’s thighs, his back propped against the other. A proprietary arm loosely snakes around his waist, securing him in a way that Tim can’t struggle against. If it had been fierce, violent, he could have fought, but it is disarmingly gentle albeit firm. The side of Tim’s face presses into Jason’s chest, the smell of the ocean, rum, and a spicy musk sending an anticipatory thrill through Tim.

“Lighten up, kid,” purrs Jason, resting his chin on Tim’s head. All of his thoughts are scrambled. Tim is tense, barely daring to breathe lest the heat of his exhalations aggravate the notorious pirate. “You need to learn how to relax.” When Jason leans forward, Tim twitches noticeably, but the pirate pays him no mind. Instead, Captain Todd reaches for a bottle of whiskey.

“So, kid, I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer me unless you want your tongue ripped out,” comments Jason. It’s almost as if he were talking about the weather. Tim shudders a bit when he feels Jason’s breathe ghost across the shell of his ear. The open rim of the bottle pushes against Tim’s lips. Tim tries to turn his head away, but it presses insistently to his bottom lip, and the arm wrapped around his waist tightens like a boa constrictor.

“Drink up, rich boy,” murmurs Jason. Tim makes a protesting half noise from the back of his throat. Jason pretends he doesn’t hear it. “This is how real men drink this shit, not in shots like what you did back at the card game. It’ll help loosen ya up.”

Tim knows he can hold his liquor fairly well, but the stuff is stronger than anything he’s used to. Still, with the dark way Captain Todd is looking at him, he suspects Jason is contemplating shoving the bottle down his throat if he keeps struggling for much longer. His manacled hand, the one that’s not injured, clasps Jason’s wrist to try and stabilize the bottle. He parts his lips obediently, tilting his head up a little for a better angle. The bottle is tipped a little bit too quickly; Tim chokes when the fiery liquid hits the back of his throat, jerking away to splutter incoherently. Some whiskey sloshes onto his skin. Tim shivers at the coldness.

“Shit, sorry kiddo. Didn’t mean to do that.” Tim wonders if the alcohol is already getting to him if he’s hearing a pirate captain _apologize_ ; his tolerance surely isn’t _that_ bad. Reflex tears are forming in his eyes. He raises a hand to try and wipe away the bit of whiskey trailing down the corner of his lip, but then a coarser, more calloused thumb swipes across his lips to catch the wetness. He looks up, astonished when Jason Todd’s eyes are watching him intently, never breaking eye contact when the pirate raises his thumb to his lips to taste the whiskey. The moisture in Tim’s mouth evaporates. He licks his lips uncertainly; discovering that he can taste the faint tang of sweat and salt from the rough pad of Jason’s thumb. Captain Todd’s eyes track the motion, lingering on his mouth.

“Can’t waste a drop of this, can we, rich boy?” croons Jason. Then his head is leaning down, and Tim _freaks_ when he feels Captain Todd’s tongue lapping up the spillage that had trailed down and pooled in the dip of Tim’s collarbone. A noise that’s an embarrassing cross between a squeak and a shocked groan falls from his mouth when Jason’s tongue laves across the skin. Shuddering, Tim clenches his eyes shut at the graze of teeth along his skin, before the pirate sucks the flesh into an open mouthed kiss, nipping and rolling the abused skin between his teeth to bite it. Oh god, it’s going to leave a mark. He wants to attribute the flush on his face to the alcohol, but he knows it can’t be going through his system that quickly. When the skin that Jason has lavished attention on feels achy, tingling, and _electrifying_ , Jason’s pulling back, observing his handiwork. Numbly, Tim realizes he’s gripping the lapels of Jason’s coat, fingers trembling with the force that he’s holding on for dear life. He lets go automatically; Jason chuckles darkly at the stunned expression on Tim’s face.

“Y’know kid, I’m surprised,” Jason’s voice is low and throaty, and it does bad things to Tim’s nerves. “You’re not puttin’ up as much of a fight as I thought you would.”

Tim swallows past the massive lump in his throat that’s prohibiting him from speaking. Clearing his throat, he meets the pirate’s gaze unflinchingly. “I intend to uphold what I promised,” Tim responds, ignoring the way his chest tightens uncomfortably and how his pulse spikes. “Them’s the rules, aren’t they?”

Jason makes a thoughtful sound in his throat. “If this a matter of you clinging to your pride, don’t bother. Right now, my men think I’ve ripped your clothes off to ravish you already.”

Tim scowls. “Technically, you already did,” he mutters petulantly, crossing his arms awkwardly. “I mean, the, uh, clothes, well, I guess you didn’t really rip them off, erm,” he backpedals hastily, hating the amused curl of Jason’s lips. “But I mean, you forced me into this stupid thing and – well –” he cuts himself with an embarrassed groan. “I’m going to shut up now,” he mutters, turning pink.

“Smart kid.” Jason grins. Tim huffs as Jason tilts the bottle towards him again but is prepared this time. He swallows the liquor down easily, torn between wanting to forget everything that’s going on and avoiding impairing his mental faculties. He feels heat simmering in his gut, sees the same intense hunger in Jason’s eyes. Jason sets the bottle down to the side. His newly unencumbered hand skims along Tim’s bare legs, fingers teasingly slipping under the hem of the chemise to hover along the skin there. Automatically Tim’s palm lashes out, slapping the intrusive hand away.

“Quit it,” he snaps, before his eyes widen in realization that his audacity may have cost him further bargaining power. However, Jason only retracts his palm away, raising to tug lightly at Tim’s hair.

“Think I’m beginning to see why you managed to incapacitate three of my men,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

“They asked for it,” grouses Tim despite himself.

“Even if they did, I can’t have you undermining my crew, kid. Don’t worry, none of you idiots got to eat that night.”

“What about the one that ate my share?” retorts Tim. The wine is beginning to lower his inhibitions, making him more vocal.

“Don’t worry, everyone got his just desserts,” mutters Jason. “Aside from that, _I’m_ the one asking questions here, kid.” A little more liquor is poured down Tim’s throat, making him lightheaded.

“What did you want to know?” he mutters petulantly, resigning himself to the inevitable. Sooner or later, Jason will get the truth out of him.

“Why do you want to go to Hispaniola so badly?”

“Huh? That’s easy,” Tim responds. His cheeks are flushing from the alcohol. “My parents.”

Jason makes a thoughtful sound deep in his chest, a vibration that Tim feels. “Right, I heard the news a few years ago.”

“They were killed by pirates en route to Hispaniola some years back. A friend of mine contacted me recently,” Tim replies. “Said he had some information regarding their deaths that I’d be interested in.”

“He say what kind of information?”

Even in his somewhat tipsy state, Tim latches on to an idea forming in his addled brain. “He was a…a bit vague on the details,” says Tim hesitantly, stalling while the cogs turn slowly in his head. He gently grips Jason’s arm to tilt the bottle towards him again, sipping slowly. “I don’t know for sure, but he said that he’s got a pearl diver friend, who told him that someone’s found what they think is the shipwreck…” He blinks dizzily, resting his head against Jason’s chest.

“Let me guess, you want to see it for yourself if the rumors are true?” He hears Jason snort. “Don’t bother kid, most things on the bottom of the sea are pieces of flotsam and rarely anything worth searching for.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” breathes Tim, letting Jason think the wine is getting to him. To be honest, it is a little. “The ship that sunk was contracted to us. For my parents to _both_ leave to make sure that the cargo was transported safely…there must have been something important.” In truth, it had been all too common for his father to travel to exotic lands, always eager at the prospect of a new archaeological dig, and his mother had always followed, but Jason didn’t need to know that.

Jason looks at him shrewdly. The alcohol is heady, and it makes Tim close his eyes and turn his face inwards into Jason’s chest, afraid that the pirate will see right through the lie.

“You saying you think there’s something there that’s worth looking into, kid?”

“Don’t call me that,” retorts Tim peevishly. “And yes, why else would I leave the comforts of my own home?” He looks up at Jason through lowered eyelashes. “Back home, I looked through the company records. Though I found the contract in the old archives, _that ship doesn’t exist_. Someone scrubbed the records clean. Isn’t that something worth investigating?” It’s all fantastic bullshit Tim is concocting up in the spur of the moment; the ship had been transporting textiles and maybe a few crates of necessities hard to come by in the Americas, but it doesn’t actually matter. It’s believable enough that Jason will buy it. The question is if Tim’s appeal to the inherent pirate trait of notorious greed is working.

Jason hums thoughtfully again. “That explains a lot,” he murmurs. Tim blinks up at him.

“Is there any way I can convince you to take me there?” he pleads, grasping Jason’s arm and squeezing it. “You already put me in this stupid dress.” The alcohol is definitely working through his system now, if he’s bringing it up.

Jason’s breaths ghosts hotly in his ear. “We’ll see. Maybe we can make a deal, kid.”

Tim blinks up at him. “Really?”

“Sure, kid. But maybe when you’re not drunk off your ass. And if I decide that your story’s true.”

Damn. Captain Todd was even more untrusting than Janet Drake, but Tim supposes that was how the man was still alive at this point. He chances another glance at Jason again, trying to twist his expression into something sulky.

“Not drunk.” Jason rolls his eyes; it had its intended effect.

“Whatever you say, kid.” Suddenly Tim is hoisted up, he gasps as the world spins around him again and Jason carries him over to the bed. Tim’s eyes widen as he’s dropped unceremoniously onto it and the various piles of random items littering the spread. Something that feels like a book digs into his back, and his elbow hits a full pouch that spills out a few valuables.

“Wait, no – what are you doing – _stop_ –” Tim protests as Captain Todd fishes out a pair of cuffs, wrestling him down easily and cuffing him to the metal pole anchoring the bed down to the floor for extra stability. He leans back and surveys his handiwork with a grin, Tim struggling wildly.

“Sorry kid, loot stays on the bed.” Satisfied, Jason shrugs off his coat, tossing it over Tim’s head. The heavy garment muffles Tim’s bemused grunt. Tim squirms, managing to poke his head out from under the coat in time to see Jason extinguish the candlelight, plunging the room into darkness. Eyes not yet adjusted, Tim hears an oomph which can only be Jason dropping himself back into his odd nest of pillows.

“I’m going to kill you,” growls Tim into the darkness, tugging at the chains uselessly. Tim’s pretty sure the pirate is rolling his eyes.

“Good night to you too, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like i might need to up the ratings....should I? Hope you enjoyed it, I know it was a long wait, sorry again. Leave a message or kudos, they inspire me :)
> 
> Also I have some neat ideas in store for this, hopefully we can get to them soon ^^


	5. Into the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been focusing on my other fics because I figured no one really liked this or at least I wasn't getting much feedback, but thanks to one darling anon who reviewed twice I figured I really should update ^_^ Hope you guys enjoy, and sorry that I honestly know nothing about sailing.
> 
> Chapter kinda inspired by the confessions of charlotte doyle from when I last read it aeons ago :P

It’s been six days of being forced to swab the deck as per his punishment for losing that poker game (Tim heavily regrets thinking he was smart enough to play without knowing all the rules,) but he is privately willing to admit that Captain Todd could have done far worse to him. Every night Tim gets handcuffed to what the captain amusedly calls the “booty bed” while Jason plops himself in his usual spot. As much as Tim wants to smack him for such an awful pun, he figures he should just take what mercy the captain is willing to offer him until he can escape. Despite it all, Tim’s arm is mostly healed despite the grunt work he’s been forced to do, making him suspect it wasn’t really a full fracture. Regardless, he’s just glad to have the use of his arm back.

The initial leers and catcalls had finally subsided when teasing him had gotten boring because Tim never took the bait of starting a fight. They had left him alone after that, leaving Tim to the company of his own thoughts. At least until someone interrupts his own quiet mullings.

“Someone looks like he’s slackin’ off.” Tim turns, raising an eyebrow at Roy’s wry smile.

“I finished.” Tim gestures vaguely at the floor, straightening. The heat of the sun had tanned him quickly, the nape of his neck slightly sunburnt. Roy surveys his work before nodding approvingly.

“You’ve definitely got better, that’s for sure. Anyway, I need help with tying some stuff down. You gonna help out?”

“What for?” asks Tim, tilting his head. He _had_ noticed more activity earlier today, but hadn’t understood the reason why. “Is something happening?” He follows after Roy, quick, short steps to keep pace with Roy’s longer stride.

“Storm’s coming. Gotta get everything secure. You know anything about knots?” Tim shakes his head, but Roy doesn’t seem annoyed about it. “Never mind, it’s a good as time as any to learn.” Tim glances outwards to the rolling ocean; there’s not a single cloud in the sky. Roy tracks his line of sight and chuckles knowingly.

“You’d be surprised how fast storms can come in on the ocean, kid. Luckily we’ve got some time before it hits. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“Think you can remember that? That’s a bowline – no, rope twists the other way around, got that? Yeah, that’s good, perfect. I’ll teach you how to do a reef knot later once we’ve got these finished.” Tim’s head spins a bit as he tries to remember all the information that Roy has lobbed at him in a matter of minutes. He helps secure a cannon, grunting a little as he and Roy roll it into a better position. Roy grins affably at him when they finish and ruffles his hair a bit, and Tim’s so unaccustomed to such casual touches that he blinks up at Roy in confusion.

“Wanna do the next one yourself?” Tim feels like he would be disappointing the happy-go-lucky man if he declines, and agrees, although he feels like his fingers are getting themselves into knots rather than creating them.

“You guys are really good at this,” he mutters exasperatedly, when he loses track of where the ropes are supposed to go, has to start over from the beginning.

“Well, this is what we do everyday, kid,” says Roy dryly. “But hey, everyone learns at different speeds. My kid picked it up real quick.” Tim blinks up at that in surprise.

“I didn’t know you had one.” Roy smiles, and it’s a touch sad, nostalgic and bittersweet.

“She’s a real sweetheart. Miss her every day.”

“Is she at home with her mother?” ventures Tim curiously.

“Something like that.” Roy recovers from whatever memory he had been recalling and fixes Tim’s knot, before pulling it tight. “C’mon, we have a lot of work to do.”

* * *

 Tim had to see it to believe it – the way that the storm clouds rumble at breakneck speed towards the ship is fascinating, gathering speed as the wind picks up and the ship sways precariously over the foaming water. The final vestiges of sunset are devoured by the incoming grey of the storm, and the drizzle that had appeared while he had been below deck with Roy is the start of a downpour.

Captain Todd is at the helm – and he looks grim. When he catches sigh of Tim there’s no hint of a tease in his voice.

“The hell are you doing here, kid?” he calls, grunting as he holds the wheel firm in his grip. “Get a move on!” His gruff voice is already being drowned out by the salt spray and the wind that’s so sharply cold it all but slices through Tim’s clothes and into his skin. Tim runs back, helping the men batten down the hatches. If the men are surprised at his presence, they pay him no comment as he helps to throw tarps over the wooden grill leading below the ship.

Tim has never felt so out of his element before – now there’s a foe greater than him, greater than any of the pirates, and Mother Nature has never looked so intimidating as Tim huffs with exertion to keep up with the rest of the pirates on a ship that’s now at the mercy of the sea it sails on. It feels like he’s in a state of constant motion – whether it’s throwing rope to someone or helping people tie two heavy ropes together so that they don’t cut loose and flap wildly in the wind. The perpetual motion helps takes his mind off the stinging wind, but the thunder that rumbles closer fills him with some anxiety. As darkness falls he can barely see anything, stumbling about the deck in the light of the lanterns that bob wildly with the rise and fall of the waves now buffeting the ship.

“Bloody hell!” The voice jolts Tim to attention, and then there’s a very distinct snapping sound and a few cries. Tim looks up to see the main sail unfurling boldly, and abruptly the ship swings wildly to starboard. Then there’s somebody else scrambling up ratlines, struggling to fix the sail, but Tim can barely make out the silhouette in the pouring rain.

“Who the hell didn’t do the riggings right – fix it before we sink! Help Dick out!” bellows Jason, frantically spinning the wheel to port to compensate for the sudden shift. Tim stumbles as the ship tries to right itself, the sail ballooning proudly in the wind. There’s too much chaos, as the pirates run back and forth like oiled cogs in a machine, and Tim is the closest one.

It’s stupid how Tim always puts himself into situations like these.

Tim’s hand grips the ratlines, tugs them sharply to test their strength. The ropes are sturdy and coarse, made to carry men far heavier than him. He moves to clamber up, but slips because his boots have little to no traction anywhere. With some effort he kicks the waterlogged objects off, discards them on the deck. His bare feet leave the solid comfort of sturdy wood as Tim hoists himself up. He’s only a foot off yet the wind leaves him clinging for dear life to the ropes, buffeting him about like a ragdoll, and he feels like a spider clinging to a trembling web.

He looks up, and Dick’s shadow is struggling to fix the sails by himself. The ship suddenly swings shockingly close to the water’s surface, and Tim’s feet lose their purchase on the ropes as the galleon dips down low enough that the roiling waves leap over the railings.

If he doesn’t go, the ship might very well capsize. Tim grunts and hefts himself up, slowly going step by step, making sure not to look down.

“Kid! Get down from there!” He looks down. _Well_. He’s really not that far up after all. Captain Todd is gaping at him, his glare still visible in the pouring sheets of rain.

“I can do it!” calls Tim, but his voice is lost in the chaos. Jason’s expression is aggravated, eyebrows furrowed.

“Kid! It’s dangerous! Tim!” If Tim had heard, he would have realized that was more or less the first time anyone on the pirate ship had actually used his name, but instead he continues scaling the ratlines. He makes the mistake of looking down – the pirates look like ants from his vantage point, impossible to see in the rain, as he finally makes it to where Dick was. Tim shivers violently as he hauls himself up to his destination.

“Hey!” he yells, clinging to the ratlines as the ship sways violently.

“About damn ti –” Dick stops short as he realizes who it is. “Wait, they sent _you_?” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind, help me out here!” Dick nimbly shifts his weight confidently onto a rope strung from the yardarm to the sail, almost like he’s made for it, as Tim hesitantly tests his weight on another yard. He shuffles forward, clinging for dear life to the wood, feeling as he’s about to plunge to an early death.

“Do you know how to even tie a knot?” yells Dick. It’s the only way to be heard, despite their proximity as Tim mimics Dick’s movements in helping to reef the sail.

“Roy taught me!” he all but screams back, though honestly he’s not sure if he actually recalls how to execute it in his current situation.

“Fine! Wrap the sheets inwards!” A sharp gust of wind nearly knocks Tim back, but then a hand grips his shoulder, steadying him.

“Careful!” Dick spares him a genuine smile, and Tim manages a small one back, regaining his balance. Together they slowly but surely reef the sail properly, securing it so that it won’t fall loose. Tim’s numb fingers fumble with the knots, but he manages and Dick grins at him a smile so wide that despite the storm raging about them Tim feels a sharp sense of relief that they’ve finished the job.

“Nice job kid!” says Dick loudly over the storm’s rage. “Impressed you got up here.” Tim smiles shakily, when everything goes to hell. A sharp swell of water crashes onto the deck below them, and the ship lurches once again. Caught off guard, Tim slips on the slick wood. His fingers scrabble for purchase before he falls. For a split second he’s dizzy and airborne before Dick’s arm shoots out and latches onto his shirt.

“Gotcha!” Heart pounding, Tim grasps onto Dick’s arm for dear life. Yet before he can even suck in a terrified breath, the ship rights itself, rocking wildly. The momentum throws Tim forward, and he’s torn from Dick’s grasp like a ragdoll, and he’s weightless, spinning out of inertia and into the stormy darkness.

Tim’s had the occasional dream of falling, but nothing like this. Everything is in crystal sharp clarity but everything is a murky black save for the needle sharp nips of freezing rain and the pounding wind. He misses the deck by several paces. A lantern light swings wildly, someone’s shouting but no one can hear, and Tim shouts with a pained gasp as he hits the water painfully, submerging in an icy shock and inhaling ocean foam and spray. He breaches the water’s surface desperately, sucking in a lungful of air before another wave crashes over his head and drags him back down.

He tries to call for help, but he knows it’s fruitless, as the galleon pitches in the sea and the merciless waves toss him further away from the ship. Rationally Tim knows the cold will probably kill him, send him into shock, but he’s struggling desperately towards the dark silhouette of the ship, even as the waves crash down over his head and submerge him entirely in the icy temperatures of the Atlantic. His waterlogged clothes bog him down, hampering his movements.

It feels like a century and sparse seconds all at once as Tim’s numbed limbs stop responding to his muscles; he gasps pitifully as he sinks into the cold obscurity of the pitch-black ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got a  [tumblr](http://rivetingfabrications.tumblr.com/)! There's a little sneak preview up there of a highschool jaytim au i'm trying to write since i have a plot bunny that won't go away despite my dislike of hs aus, so maybe check that out? Would love feedback on it :3 Feel free to spam my ask box if you feel like it with headcannons or something or maybe stuff you'd like me to write, idk. No promises I'll ever get anything done, but it's there if you feel like using it :P
> 
> Kudos and reviews are always appreciated and loved! Especially because this story is kinda out of my element so feedback would be amazing :D


	6. Reunited

Tim drifts in and out of dazed, feverish dreams that swing wildly between the past and present during the lulls of darkness and discomfort, hazy, vague things that don’t make sense. Later he recalls fuzzy voices, urgently saying his name, but he’s too tired to respond, muscles aching and head heavy as sleep overtakes him.

When his eyes finally flutter open, it takes him several moments to register his surroundings. The bed is no doubt the one in Captain Todd’s cabin, but he’s disoriented because the loot scattered about the bed has vanished, and for once he’s not sleeping with random goblets prodding into his spine or his head resting atop some dusty hardcover book. He shifts restlessly, then hisses when pain lances through his torso, curling on himself a little. He doesn’t feel exhausted, but he burrows further into the warm covers, inhaling deeply. He catches the strong scent of faded cigarette smoke and enough sea salt to last him a lifetime, until he realizes he has his nose buried in Todd’s striking coat.

He jerks his head out of the offending fabric, nearly giving himself whiplash. Blushing a bit, Tim throws the covers off, flexing his limbs experimentally before moving to get out of bed. Thankfully he’s not handcuffed. He manages to swing one foot over the side when the door swings open and he comes face to face with Captain Todd. They stare at each other for a moment, Jason looking every bit as speechless as the younger man, though he recovers faster.

“Christ, kid, took you long enough to wake up.” He stalks forward, relief washing over his features, and the almost-concerned expression renders Tim astonished enough that he doesn’t protest when the pirate presses him back into bed, pressing a calloused hand to his forehead. “Looks like you’re almost good as new, kiddo. Your fever broke not too long ago; how’re you feeling?”

“Like I could eat a horse,” rasps Tim, his voice rusty from disuse. “What happened?”

Immediately Jason’s face converts into a scowl. “What happened, Timmyboy, is that you nearly got yourself killed after I told you to get down from the damn mast!” He glares halfheartedly at Tim. “You owe Roy your life; he jumped in after you, though how he ever found your half-dead corpse breathing seawater is something I’ll never understand.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jason snorts and shakes his head at Tim’s eloquent apology.

“Damn straight. Dick’s been a right arse, barging into my quarters to keep checking up on you at all ungodly hours. And do you know how much of a damn liability keeping a sick brat on my ship is?”

“Sorry,” Tim repeats, further abashed. “How long was I out for?”

“Couple days. We almost lost you, kiddo.” Jason’s eyes blaze seriously at him. “Hell, and I thought _I_ was reckless. The next time I give you a direct order, you damn well follow it, or next time we’ll leave you to the damn fishes for how much trouble you cause.”

“Be a waste of all that effort of keeping me alive,” mumbles Tim, and Jason cuffs him on the back of his neck for the smart remark, though it’s more of a love tap than anything.

“Brat,” grumbles Jason. “A waste of supplies to feed you, more like. What about your ribs?”

“They ache a bit,” admits Tim softly. Jason’s brow furrows slightly, and before Tim can react, Captain Todd pushes up Tim’s shirt, where there are neatly bound bandages interweaved about his torso. Belatedly Tim realizes his clothes are far too big on him, and he yelps a bit, squirming as Jason presses experimentally on a tender spot along his side.

“Easy, kid. You broke two ribs.” Todd hushes him before straightening back up. “But, you did good, Tim. Real good.”

“Good at what?” asks Tim bemusedly. Jason clicks his tongue.

“Reefing the sails. But don’t do it again.” Jason sighs and cards a hand through his hair. “I’d tell you to stay put, but some sunlight could do you some good. You’re as pasty as a turnip and way too scrawny.” He takes his coat away from Tim, and Tim defiantly ignores the sense of loss that pools in his gut.

Tim feels a bit offended. Sure, he’ll never have the same sort of muscle mass as Captain Todd or Roy Harper, or even Dick Grayson, but that doesn’t mean he can’t pull his own weight. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Kid, the wind physically _blew_ you overboard. Quit yammering and let’s go.” Tim hops out of bed, his gait a little shaky (he’s lost his sea legs, apparently, during the time he’s been out,) but he follows after Captain Todd. Just as the pirate captain swings the door open, Tim is immediately beleaguered by Dick Grayson.

“Tim!” Dick grips his shoulders, looks him up and down. “Thank god you’re awake! I was so worried about you!” Tim is a little overwhelmed by the attention (he doesn’t think his late parents would have had such an open, heartfelt response, either,) and he gapes a little helplessly before Jason snorts, cuffing Dick on the head and dragging Tim to the mess hall.

“I see what you meant,” mumbles Tim, still a little thrown from the reception. Jason grumbles a little, but it’s fond, perhaps even protective.

“Dick’s got some bad experiences with falling, kid. You freaked him out. Hell, you freaked _all_ of us out.”

“Even you?” Tim blinks up at the fearsome captain, who huffs and grumbles to stall for time.

“Why _wouldn’t_ I be worried about some brat who insists on getting to places where he’s not meant to be?” Tim can’t help but smile just a tiny bit at that, though he valiantly tries to hide it.

“Is that why you don’t keep me in the brig?”

“Careful what you ask for, brat.” Jason cuffs him lightly, but it’s still enough to send Tim jolting a few steps forward. He wants to protest, but he’s just glad that no one is calling him rich boy anymore.

Tim eats enough until Jason’s staring at him wide-eyed and until he admittedly feels a little sick, but he’s welcomed by many of the pirates. It’s a little jarring, to suddenly be almost _friendly_ with his captors, but he figures he’s not going to complain for any leverage he can get on this ship. Roy gives him an enormous bear hug, until Tim feels like he’s going to die for real and Jason drags the redhead off when Tim’s pale skin is beginning to tint green.

“Before I forget, Captain, the ship we’ve been tailing’s slowed down.”

“Any messages?”

“Nope. But I’m pretty sure they’ve seen us at this point.”

“Tailing?” asks Tim with interest. Jason chuckles at him grimly, all teeth.

“Yep. We’re raiding it.” He dares Tim silently to challenge him. Tim knows it’s not worth it; after all, he’ll be eating whatever supplies are taken from it. It’s a far cry from the lifestyle he’s more or less said his goodbyes to weeks ago. If he squints, he can see the faintest hint of white sails gleaming against the horizon, a patch of white against the backdrop of teal and sky.

“Um. Should I –”

“ _You’re_ going to sit tight below decks, Tim, and not get underfoot or do anything stupid.” Jason leans closer, his smile all teeth and little humor left. “You understand, right? Or do I have to tie you down to the bed again?”

Tim frowns at him, trying not to blink at the way Jason is all up in his face. “I hardly think that would be necessary.”

“It’s all on you, Tim. Are you going to be good, or am I going to have to find another pair of shackles?”

Tim leans back casually, refusing to be intimidated. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped threatening me with that every single time you want me to follow your orders.”

“I think you need to realize having a nice bed to sleep on here is a _privilege_. So, what’ll it be?”

Tim gauges his options. As per usual, he has very few left. “Very well. I’ll stay below decks. What sort of ship is it?”

Jason smirks. “It’s called the _Cluemaster_ , and her captain owes us quite some money after giving us the slip one too many times. He’s a nasty one, but pathetic.”

Tim folds his arms across his chest. “So it’s just pirate against pirate? Why’re you so concerned about me getting in the way? It sounded like you were targeting a naval ship or something.”

Jason grins. “Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea that another ship might be cozier, princess.” His smile fades. “No. They’re privateers, Timbo. For France. His expression becomes more ominous. “They don’t like us much, Timbo, and they certainly won’t like you either.”

Tim quirks his eyebrow. “Either that or you think I can bribe them to take me back home. If they’re government sanctioned, they would-”

Jason throws his head back with a sharp laugh, cutting him off. “You could certainly try. But believe me, what privateers say they do and what they actually do are two very, _very_ different things.”

“So no different from a normal pirate.”

Jason bares his teeth. “Don’t compare us to those lapdogs. They like to pretend they’re official. Important. But they’d throw their own kind under if it meant getting a promotion.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Let’s get something straight, lad.” Jason’s smile is cold like flint. “We bow to _no one_. That ship over there? Their government pays them a pretty penny to get rid of people against their interests. But trust me, they’d sooner spit on you than save you, and the word of an Englishman is worth horseshit to them. If you want to keep your pretty head attached to your neck, you’re going to go back to my quarters and sit tight, until either Roy or myself come to get you. Understand?”

Tim nods, and Jason pats his cheek condescendingly in a way that makes Tim really want to punch him. “Good. If you’re done with your food, you should get going. I need to make sure the crew knows what we’re doing.”

~*~*~*~

Tim scowls, scouring Jason’s room for his belt and ring. There’s a lot of chaotic noise going on outside, but since Jason’s crew is on the offensive, he suspects he probably won’t have too much to worry about their ship being boarded. However, he’s already thrown the place upside down searching for his belongings, and he can only conclude that either Captain Todd is great at hiding things, or he has them on his person because Tim is just that predictable.

He’s honestly not actually sure what’s going on, and time on the ocean has a way of blurring together seamlessly, when he hears a distinctively familiar female voice shouting and screaming above the lower register of male taunts. He stills. It doesn’t sound like Kori’s, or anyone else’s on this ship for that matter, but it makes his hands still and his heart nearly stop, because he didn’t think he’d ever hear that voice again.

“Get off me! I told you that’s _my_ ship now!”

Oh, fuck. It can’t be. Tim bolts out of the captain’s quarters, feet pounding against the floorboards as he turns the corner. There’s a large crowd gathered at the side of the ship, and a bright head of golden hair shouting and swearing at Captain Todd who looks more amused than anything. Tim pushes his way to the front of the crowd.

“Steph!” he shouts, above the noise, and it’s difficult but slowly the crowd parts for him. “Stephanie!” His childhood friend spins around in shock and her eyes fall on him.

“ _Tim_?” And then Tim’s hugging her tightly, heedless of the spectacle they’re making, because _gods_ he’s missed her. They’re both the worse for wear, but it doesn’t matter.

Then a polite cough. Dread pooling in his stomach, Tim knows that there’s going to be hell to pay later as Captain Todd raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well, rich boy, have anything to say for yourself?” Jason stands up to his full height to survey them critically.

“Captain Todd,” he says slowly, stalling his impending doom. “This is Stephanie Brown. My...” he hesitates. Stephanie answers for him.

“It’s none of their beeswax,” she says, scowling, daring anyone to protest. “Tim, what the hell are you doing on a pirate ship?”

“What I’d like to know,” drawls Captain Todd in some wry amusement and annoyance. “Is how you seem to have managed to commandeer a full galleon on your own, Miss Brown. Especially one that appears to have once belonged to whom I assume is your father, Captain Arthur Brown.”

Tim turns to where the galleon Captain Todd had been tailing is close by, tethered to Jason’s ship with ropes and hooks. From here the scratched out shipname of _Cluemaster_ is visible, with scrawled purple paint marks spelling _Spoiler_ drawn onto the hull.

He’s fairly certain things are taking a turn for the worse, as he wonders what Stephanie Brown has been up to in the time they’ve been apart.                                                                                          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that not much happens here, just wanted to set the stage for whatever comes next. Hope you guys enjoyed! Leave a review or kudos, they make me really happy to know people are reading :D


	7. Stormclouds Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long to update! *bows apologetically

Tim curls up on the bed, hunched into a little ball as he lets the waves rock him into a pensive lull. Though his body is exhausted, his mind is going into overdrive. Old memories of Stephanie keep rising to the front of his mind, and with nothing else do with being confined to Jason’s quarters, he mentally flicks through them. A quiet kiss on a hill overlooking the town. Games of tag and hiding away from prying eyes, giggling when they played pranks on their unsuspecting friends. Laughter as they tackled each other and muddied their clothes, scuffing their shoes while wrestling. His mother had been furious then.

It doesn’t matter. With her arrival she brought homesickness, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Tim genuinely misses home. Groaning, he buries his head further into the pillow, muffling a frustrated scream. His life has been completely flipped upside down, between getting caught, nearly drowning twice, and having Stephanie barrel back into his life. How their paths managed to cross in the huge, lonely ocean is something he can barely begin to fathom. His stomach growls. Huffing, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, walking to the door.

When he opens it, Roy Harper is blocking the way.

“I, uh,” he flounders. He’s not really sure how to address the man. Actually, he’s not really sure how to address _anyone_ on this ship. Considering he had always been expected to call people by their proper titles especially when they were older than him, Tim is left floundering for words. “Mr. Harper?” he tries uncertainly. The man snorts in amusement.

“Just Roy, kiddo. How’re your ribs doing?”

“All right. Um, thank you for not letting me drown.”

“You can thank me by sitting tight in this room.” Roy smiles, but there’s a faint edge to it Tim immediately picks up on. He cocks his head to the side, trying to look as harmless and young as possible.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, not really.” Roy sighs, scratching his head. “Look, the captain told me to make sure you didn’t leave this room until he got back, and I don’t need to get in trouble because of you.”

For some odd reason Tim can’t understand, he feels a faint hint of bitterness and irritation, although logically it certainly does make sense. He’s still a prisoner, after all. “Is this because of Stephanie?” he prods.

“She’s being questioned right now by Jason.” Roy glances at Tim shrewdly. “He’ll probably be interrogating you later, see if your stories add up.”

“Delightful,” mutters Tim. “Um…you guys won’t hurt her…right?” In truth, if he had to pick who was more likely to survive out on the open sea on a galleon full of pirates, Tim was all too happy to bet everything on Stephanie than himself, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be concerned. Roy shrugs.

“Can’t promise you anything, kid.”

“Is she in the brig?” Tim persists, stepping forward, but then Roy’s eyes harden a little, and his hand tugs on the handle firmly.

“You can ask the captain about her later, Tim. Sorry.” Roy closes the door firmly, going so far as to kick Tim’s foot out of the way to slam it shut. Angrily, Tim paces the quarters like a captive lion, infuriated like he hasn’t been in a long while. He has too much pent up energy and there’s nowhere for it to go.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks savagely. _I’ve had enough._

~*~*~*~

“Hm.” Captain Todd surveys the damage critically, an eyebrow raised. Everything is strewn about; Tim managed to break the lock on two of the chests and basically throw everything onto the floor. “You know, I was wondering how long it’d take you to snap.”

Tim’s breathing hard, eyes flint like and angry, and the sight of Jason unflinchingly calm agitates him. He needs something that will retaliate, but Jason isn’t giving him the satisfaction. Jason’s boots crunch over glass, a cracked vase that had burst open into thousands of shards and will take forever to clean. Roy had been forced to more or less break down the door at the sound; Tim had successfully managed to barricade it with the chests and the mattress.

“So, tell me.” Jason steps closer and Tim stands his ground, face as impassively angry as he can stomach. “Did the sight of your old fiancé really rile you up that much? Or is it something else?”

“Stephanie is _not_ my fiancé,” snaps Tim, too infuriated to consider the notion that Stephanie might have concocted a fabrication to protect both of them.

“No?” Jason kicks the mattress back into a horizontal position, sits down with his arms folded. “Then why don’t you tell me how you two know each other?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” snorts Tim. “She hit me with a brick.”

“Kinky,” drawls Jason, purely to rile him up. Tim bristles, frustrated at himself immediately for allowing Jason to so easily get under his skin.

“It’s true. And if you ask me if I know what she’s been up to, your guess is probably better than mine. I thought she was _dead_.” His face twists into a grimace. There had always been a low-key suspicion of his that maybe his mother had pulled some strings behind closed doors to get rid of Stephanie, as she had never entirely approved of her, but now everything he knew was being turned upside down. A thought occurs to him. “Wait, why was she even on that pirate ship? Are you guys hurting her?”

Jason quirks his eyebrow. “You have an awful lot of questions for someone who was savaging my quarters.” He indicates the mess with a tilt of his head.

Tim has had enough of Jason’s games. “Just tell me,” he snips, but Jason’s eyes narrow in warning.

“That’s no way to ask for favors,” he says grimly, mouth thinning. “Unless you feel like spending time back in the brig, if I were you I’d get on my knees and _apologize_.”

“So she’s _not_ in the brig,” deduces Tim, his stance almost defensive. His heated gaze betrays all the rage that has been simmering below the surface ever since his capture.

“I didn’t say that.”

“If she were, you’d never put me anywhere near her as well without making sure our stories corroborated first.” Tim glowers at him. Jason huffs at him, but his lack of denial is all the confirmation Tim needs. “So where is she?”

“If I swear to you she’s safe, will you calm down?”

Tim wants to spit that he can hardly trust the word of a pirate, but he barely reins himself back in the nick of time. Jaw working furiously, he has to take a good few seconds before he can get the words out of his mouth like they’re molasses.

“Fine,” he hisses, still glowering, and Jason only crooks an eyebrow, watching him closely.

“She’s fine. As a matter of fact -”

“Hey, hey, I thought I was gonna be the one to tell him.” Abruptly Stephanie waltzes in, roughly jostling Captain Todd to the side. “Heya, Timbers.”

“ _Stephanie_?” Tim gawks, but Stephanie just grins toothily at him.

“So it was a long while in negotiations, but hey! There’s good news and bad news.”

“I think I need to sit down for this,” mutters Tim, steeling himself even as he perches on the edge of the bed. All the anger that had been brewing into a hurricane evaporates instantly. Jason quirks an eyebrow, but wisely says nothing as Stephanie continues without even missing a beat.

“So, firstly, the good news is that we – Captain Todd and I – have reached an accordance.” Stephanie grins cockily at him.

“Which would be?” Tim pries, frustrated with the way Stephanie is all too happily drawing this out with suspense.

“Well, that’s the bad news.” Stephanie crosses her arms. “I’m joining his crew! Which I guess, would make you sort of indirectly our prisoner? Still his prisoner, I guess, technically.”

“Wait – Steph –” Jason looks like he’s going to burst out laughing; Tim can hardly blame him, considering his expression is probably completely aghast, but Stephanie pats him pityingly on the shoulder.

“No can do, Timmy, but this is for the best.”

Tim splutters. “Ok, no that is definitely _not_ for the best.” Everything is going wrong; hell, Tim never thought he would detest the ocean and all the dangers it entailed to this extent. “Can I at least ask _why_?”

Stephanie considers this. “Well, I would, but you know. Stuff.”

“I thought you were dead!” shouts Tim, pushing himself up abruptly, his ire flickering back to life, and even Stephanie looks slightly startled at the appearance of his temper. “Would it have killed you to write? What happened to you? I thought you were dead this whole time and now – now –” _And now you’re alive and it’s like I don’t know you anymore._

Stephanie’s mouth thins. “Look – Tim – you – you’ve always thought you could tell me what I can and can’t do – but you know what? You can’t. And sure, there’s a lot of water under the bridge to cross – probably way bigger than this ocean we’re currently sailing on – but I’m – we’re not the kids we used to be anymore.”

 _Gods, I know that. I know that clear as day._ Tim suddenly feels drained. He’s been fighting for so damned long, but he feels emotionally taxed, unwilling to carry on dredging up his past to Captain Todd who’s watching the proceedings with a pokerfaced but avid eye.

“Was I really that terrible that you thought disappearing was a better option? Did it not occur to you that maybe I was _worried_ about the person I cared about who vanished without a _trace_?” he spits, and Stephanie’s eyes widen. The room feels too small, too cramped; he can’t breathe. He needs to get out. To get away from everything. “Forget it,” he snaps, and he pushes his way past her; she spins around angrily, about to pull him back, probably to duke it out right there on the cabin floor. Yet to his dull surprise, Jason stops her, something warning in his eyes that Tim doesn’t care to decipher.

He forces his way out to the deck; it’s already past dark, the sunset fading to the light dusk of early twilight, but there’s nowhere to go on the ship that’s quiet, nowhere to run to lose himself in the easy solitude of an empty mansion on the wrong side of the ocean. The ropes creak, the ship settling as it glides over ocean waves to cut through the wind, the sound of the crew’s chatter as they finish up their evening duties before the bell sounds for dinner.

Frustrated, he heads for the bow of the ship where he sees fewer people. He storms up as far as he can until the railings prohibit him from going any further, breathing hard as the wind gusts strongly. He shivers in the chill; closing his eyes and gripping the railing white knuckled as he tries to cool his head.

“I’m such a mess,” he whispers to himself, his words lost over the strong wind.

“Damn right you are.” Tim jolts up, but then the familiar feel of a certain captain coat, heavy with ornaments and the weight of buckles flops over his head and obscuring his vision, a firm hand firmly but not unkindly pressing his head down.

“Why are you here?” he mutters petulantly, and Captain Todd just snorts.

“Get a hold of yourself, kid. Take a breather. No one’s here but me.”

“Great,” snips Tim sarcastically. When he tries to yank the heavy garment off his head so he can turn around and face the pirate, Jason’s hand only forces his head down a little lower.

“She meant a lot to you, didn’t she.” It’s not a question.

“So what?” laughs Tim bitterly. “It’s none of your business.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” says Captain Todd offhandedly. “But you’re making an ass of yourself. When you’ve decided to quit sniveling like a brat, there’s food in the mess hall.”

Tim doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know _what_ to say.

“I’m not cleaning up your damn cabin,” he says in lieu of anything actually useful, and Jason just snorts at him.

“Believe me kid, if I knew that you flying off the handle meant that much destruction, I would have been a helluva lot more careful.” A final ruffle of his head through the cloak, and then Jason’s heavy boot steps move away from him, clomping heavily over the deck until they fade out over the incessant wind.

Shrugging the coat on gingerly, Tim realizes its a few sizes too big on him. But it’s warm and sturdy, protecting him from the worst of the biting cold, and he leans over the railing, closing his eyes and letting the ocean breeze soak into his skin, letting the heated anger seep away gradually like venom from a snakebite. When he finally looks skywards, the stars are peeping through the twilight. He picks out familiar, comforting constellations, of Cassiopeia and Ursa Major. From the outskirts of his hometown, where Drake Manor stands, these had been sometimes visible, away from the dust and smog of pollution of the cities.

It’s not much, but at least it’s a little bit of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get back into the flow of writing this, would love reviews to see how I'm doing ^^ I'm sorry that I took so long to update >tumblr ! If y'all are interested *shrugs


	8. Below Decks

Tim finally tears himself away from the night sky when the wind and the cold starts soaking through even the durable coat of the pirate captain’s, trudging down the ladder below decks when he hears loud, childish noises. He stops, foot dangling off a rung as he tilts his head to listen for the noises. The ship’s walls are by no means thick, and he takes a minute to scale quickly down the rest of the ladder, slowly navigating the nearly claustrophobic twists and turns of the ship. As he ventures deeper down, the sounds become progressively louder, and he can identify them as most definitely children’s voices.

Realizing that they’re probably in the hold, Tim quickens his paces, heart thudding deep against his chest. He should have known, he thinks, striding through the halls of the ship, and god he feels like a fool. Jason Todd was the most fearsome pirate in the known seas, larger than life with the tales told of him. They said he took no quarter, was as cold blooded as the raging seas.

And yet. Tim shakes his worries from his mind as the hold comes into sight, its door closed but the voices floating eerily from behind it. Without hesitating he tries to wrench it open, finds it firmly locked. He jiggles the handle, but it refuses to budge. The voices escalate for the briefest of moments, then fall still.

“Dammit,” mutters Tim, trying to jerk it open without making too much noise, but it’s futile. He idly considers trying to pick it, but he doesn’t know the first thing about picking locks and well, he doesn’t care for the consequences in the likelihood he were caught making the attempt.

“Key.”

Tim yelps and stumbles back, turning around and coming face to face with another person – or at least he would have, if she hadn’t barely reached his shoulders.

“I, uh –” he flounders for words as the girl tilts her head to the side, considering him silently. He doesn’t think he’s seen her around, though to be fair he hasn’t actually met most of Jason’s crew. However, she reaches out again, and Tim belatedly realizes that she’s offering him the cargo hold key.

“Oh. Um.” Tim licks his lips hesitantly. “Is it okay that you’re giving me that?”

She shrugs at him, and Tim gets the oddest feeling that’s she’s reading more about him than he’d care to reveal.

“Right. Okay.” Tim exhales slowly, accepting the key in her outstretched hands. It’s heavy in his palm but warm, and he hesitantly glances at her once more before returning his attention to the door. Inserting the key only takes a moment, and a firm twist to the left has the tumblers within shifting, the door creaking inwards once Tim turns the handle.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, as multiple pairs of eyes fall upon him, children in multiple ragged states. The black haired girl behind him slips through the open door, and immediately a few of them get up and run to her, chattering to her in multiple languages. Tim detects French and some Spanish, but most of them are speaking too fast for him to understand. She pats their heads soothingly before giving them a gentle push to return to where they’d been resting. The hold is scattered with multiple linens and makeshift bedding, and he manages to count at least a score of children if not more.

“What is going on?” Tim asks, turning to her, and her face scrunches as though she has difficulty finding the words on the tip of her tongue.

“Slave trading. Were rescued.” Tim can’t place her accent; he gives up trying to do so in favor of deciphering her minimal answers.

“By…whom?”

“Stephanie,” she replies calmly, arms loose by her sides. “Her father is…bad. She disapproved.”

Tim swallows thickly. “Did she….kill him?” he manages, voice dry. God, he doesn’t think Stephanie would do such a thing, but in the past hour he’s been forced to question everything he’s ever thought to be true.

“No. Marooned. He will live. Safe from authorities.” she hums.

Tim knows very little of Stephanie’s family, but he’s aware that the penalty for piracy, if Stephanie had turned him over to the authorities, would have been death. No wonder she had had few options.

“Why are they on this ship then?” he asks, watching as most of the children watch him with gaunt eyes, wary, while others turn to whisper to each other in hushed voices.

“Captain,” she says with another small shrug and a tilt to his head. “He agreed to.”

Tim’s eyebrows furrow. “So Steph rescued them, then bargained with Jason? What’s going to happen to them?”

“Next port. Drop off.”

Tim’s breath catches a little; there’s a sliver of a chance for escape if they’re going to dock at some point. Yet the girl is still watching him strangely, her gaze unnerving in its intensity.

“The captain,” she says at last when the silence stretches for too long. Tim blinks at her in confusion.

“What about him?”

She says nothing further, only a subtle flicker of her expression conveys to Tim what she wants from him.

“I don’t know,” he says reluctantly, closing his eyes tiredly, the weight of Captain Todd’s coat abruptly feeling like a burden. “One minute I think he’s about to kill me, and the next second he’s being – I don’t know – _nice_. Like, can’t he just pick one? It’s nerve wracking.”

“Hm.” And then she moves forward fluidly, like the ocean waves cresting, rolling fluidly, and Tim stills as she presses two fingers to the crown of his head, her touch warm as they press against his forehead with a touch as light as air. Then she’s moving fluidly past him, out the door, and Tim spins around, belatedly reaching for her.

“Wait! What’s your name?” he calls, as he catches the door with his foot to stop it and rushing after her. She pauses mid step, face turning so that it catches the dim light of the hold, expression already partially wreathed in the shadow of the doorframe.

“Cass,” she says, and then she rounds the corner. By the time Tim catches up, she’s already gone.

He rounds the corner, giving chase to her, then smacks all too heavily someone who is most definitely not the odd black haired girl.

“ _Easy_.” Arms wrap around him, and he jerks a little, staring dumbly at the annoyingly all-too-familiar Captain Todd. Jason surveys him with a little smirk; it fades as his eyes fall on the key still clasped in Tim’s hand.

“Still trying to escape?” He takes the keys from Tim’s hand easily, glancing at them. Raising his eyebrows, Todd glances at him wryly. “You know these are the hold keys, right? Unless you’re trying to rescue the kids off my ship, in which case, good luck with that.”

“But I thought you agreed to drop them off at the next port?” protests Tim a little, too caught off guard to properly try to extricate himself from Jason’s arms winding around him. Jason’s smile fades a little.

“Who told you that?” he asks. Then he snorts. “It was Roy, wasn’t it? I swear he can’t keep his mouth shut for more than a minute.”

“No,” starts Tim, but Jason isn’t really listening to him, suddenly holding Tim firmly at arm’s length, stepping back to critically gauge him. A crooked, lopsided smile flits across his stern lips.

“You look good in my coat,” he hums, and the back of his knuckles raise to brush against Tim’s cheek. “A pretty boy like you shouldn’t be running around this ship by yourself, love.”

Tim seizes up, breath stuttering to a halt as Jason’s amused eyes gauge his reaction. “I’m not your love,” he says abruptly, scowling, and Jason rolls his eyes in response.

“Maybe, but you _are_ mine,” says Jason offhandedly, smirking as Tim glowers at him. “You’re loot.”

“That’s what you think,” retorts Tim challengingly, locking eyes with him, and Jason chuckles.

“That’s what I _know_.” He dips his head to whisper into Tim’s ear, tucking a stray lock of hair behind it. “You’d best get used to it, love.”

“But why?” asks Tim in frustration, barely even breathing in such close proximity to Captain Todd. “Why did you agree to help those kids?” He’s missing a piece of the puzzle, and he doesn’t know _what_ it is.

Jason’s expression darkens. “So long as I captain this ship, she will _never_ be a slave ship. We don’t kidnap children to sell them, lad. That’s not how we do things here.”

“So why me?” asked Tim quietly. “Why am I still here?”

“Hm,” hums Jason in an exaggerated manner that has Tim wanting to punch him. His fingers graze over the elaborate collar of the vibrant red coat that’s too large on Tim. “Why indeed. Maybe I just liked the look of you, love. A pretty little thing like you is a gem on the open seas.”

“So ransom, then.”

“There’s no one willing to pay for you, lad, as far as I’m aware of, at least. No family, nothing. And your pretty childhood friend didn’t bat an eye at leaving you at my mercy.” Jason raises an eyebrow daringly, breath ghosting along the shell of Tim’s ear and leaving goosebumps in its wake. His voice lowers, his grip gradually tightening on Tim's arms. “So tell me, Tim, what would you do if I made you my woman?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My derply li'l nsfw [tumblr](http://rivetingfabrications.tumblr.com/) where I procrastinate a lot.
> 
> Reviews and kudos inspire me to write more, y'all don't realize how a little validation goes a long way xD


	9. For Keeps

_What would you do if I made you my woman?_ The words repeat in Tim’s mind like a broken record, echoing off the walls of his mind until he realizes he’s staring speechlessly, wide eyed like a startled deer caught exposed outside the safety of the underbrush. Jason’s grey-blue eyes are amused but his expression is expectant, almost anticipatory as a thumb grazes across Tim’s parted lips.

“You’re teasing me,” Tim manages shakily, unable to keep the edge of nervous laughter from coloring his voice. “If you were really so desperate for a woman, there’s plenty who sail under your flag.” He’s seen them milling about, though most he can’t put a name to except Kory after the inopportune poker match.

“Who says I’m desperate?” Jason smirks, and his gaze is so predatory Tim takes an involuntary step back; his back accidentally hits the wall of the narrow corridors, and before he knows it, Jason is crowding him, backing him into a corner both literally and figuratively. “Though no, I don’t sleep with the women on my ship unless I want my balls strung up and people claiming I’m showing favoritism.” He barks a loud, amused laugh that doesn’t comfort Tim in the slightest. “Kory sleeps with whom she wants to, when she wants to, and I’d say that more or less goes for most of the women on this ship.”

“You’re lying, then,” says Tim in a small voice, and he wonders if Jason can hear his heart threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

“And what makes you think that, love?” breathes Captain Todd, and two of his calloused fingers press gently against the pale of Tim’s throat.

Tim swallows, and he hates the fleeting realization that Jason can probably feel his pulse spiking, his breaths shallow. He swallows thickly. “You’re a pirate,” he manages, not daring to let his gaze slide from Jason’s gleaming eyes as the fingers slowly map the expanse of his neck, gliding down his jugular and drifting along the jut of his collarbone, pressing a little harder where Captain Todd’s mouth had once lapped at the skin there, leaving the faintest of bruises on his skin from spilled wine and a lost wager. “And if you had such…intentions, you would have acted on them long ago.”

A lazy smile is all that is offered to him. “ _Intentions_ ,” murmurs Jason shrewdly, thoughtfully, as if he’s tasting the word. Then his smile sharpens. “Ah.”

Tim flinches as Jason’s fingers splay along the side of his throat, thumb digging into the underside of his jaw and forcing him to look up once more as Jason speaks into the curve of his throat, air ghosting along suddenly achy, shivering skin.

“Well then, love,” hums Jason, and Tim keeps forgetting to breathe in such close proximity to his captor, “would you like a statement of _intent_?” Tim feels the unmistakable nip of teeth along his neck, and that alone is enough to shock him into action. He yelps, shoving Jason away with all his might, breaking free from his grasp. Jason lets him go easily enough, and Tim wonders how truly terrifying it would be if Jason Todd were _serious_.

“You _bit_ me.”

“A declaration.” Jason eyes him drily. “That I don’t let things I like go easily.”

“I’m not your plaything,” says Tim scathingly, touching his neck cautiously. He doubts the flesh will even redden slightly, but the fleeting memory of what had just transpired between them is seared into his brain. Just the mere thought of it alone has a flush rising high on his cheekbones.

“If I wanted a plaything I wouldn’t keep one who keeps insisting on going where he’s not meant to be,” snorts Jason. “But you are _interesting_ , Timothy Drake.” Then his voice drops, a whisper only meant for Tim’s ears. “And if my instincts are correct, _dangerous_.”

Tim schools his expression and curbs the reflexive urge to just _react_. There’s something fluttering in his stomach like the thrill of a fight, the adrenalin and the excitement of being regarded as someone to be on guard with – and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. “I don’t know what makes you say that,” he manages truthfully.

“There’s only a handful of people who’d be able to pick out patterns in a rigged deck, love, especially in a game like poker where after every hand is shuffled.” Jason quirks his brows challengingly. “And fewer still who could learn that on the fly when all the players are cheating except _you_. It’s obvious you’re a rookie, kiddo, but whatever’s in that head that makes you tick – _well_.” Jason chuckles softly. “Who _wouldn’t_ be intrigued?”

“Wait – you were _all_ cheating?” Tim doesn’t _quite_ screech, but it’s a near thing.

“It’s the pro table, kid, what did you expect?” Jason rolls his eyes, but once again there’s tangible amusement about him. “You’ve got a lot to learn kid.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” mutters Tim, barely even listening to him anymore, so distraught as he was at the reveal. “You guys were all –”

“Yes, Tim, cheating. You know, like pirates,” says Jason conversationally. Tim wonders if he could get away with throttling Captain Jason Todd, and very nearly goes with the notion.

“I hate you,” he announces finally, after struggling and failing to articulate his rage after several moments, and Jason snorts and marches him in the direction of the captain’s quarters, where Tim’s cold dinner is waiting for him.

~*~*~*~

“How do you do that?” asks Tim curiously, gnawing at the rock-hard bread that’s all that remains of his dinner. Jason bridges a deck of cards, shuffles them, cuts them in half and shuffles them again dexterously.

“Practice, kid. Have you finished stewing in your own rage so that you can speak like a normal person again?”

Tim viciously bites into the bread, coming away victorious when he rips away a chunk of it after pretending it’s Jason’s head. “Shut up,” he announces around the food in his mouth, and Jason gives him a weird look.

“ _Anyway_ , like I said, it’s just practice. Even you’d get decent enough at it eventually.”

“What do you mean, ‘even me?’” asks Tim dangerously, and Jason mentally groans.

“Do it enough and you’ll get better, right? Poker, fighting, shuffling cards –”

“Cheating?”

“Watch it, punk.” Jason glares at him warningly. “But yes, cheating as well.”

Tim frowns sourly at him.

“I want my belt back. And everything else.”

“We always want what we can’t have, love,” sneers Jason, rocking back onto his haunches as Tim glowers at him.

“I want a rematch.”

“You’ve got nothing to stake, kid,” sighs Jason, tossing an arm over his eyes in exasperation as he sinks into the pillows of his makeshift bed. “Give it a rest, would you?”

Tim fumes quietly. For a few moments the room is filled with the not quite so blissful silence of Tim savaging the loaf into jagged pieces with his teeth and crunching on them as loudly as he can.

“Everybody wants something,” Tim says at last.

“’Course. That’s the way the world works,” agrees Jason.

“So what do you want?”

“How ‘bout you put on that nice little dress and do a twirl for me?” asks Jason sagely, not even bothering to lift his arm to properly look at Tim.

“Right. That’s not happening,” growls Tim and Jason resists the urge to rolls his eyes again.

“Well, love, if you’ve got no wager, you can’t play.”

A hard whump that Jason immediately identifies as his own coat drops onto his stomach. Then something cotton, lightweight but balled up, hits him in the face and he jerks a little. Glaring, Jason sits up, ripping the offending piece of fabric away from his face. His eyes widen as he realizes its Tim’s shirt, Tim glaring balefully at him with his arms crossed over his bare chest.

“Teach me how to play.”

“Seriously?” Jason gestures incredulously with Tim’s wadded up shirt in his hand. “Was that supposed to be a bribe? You’re insane, kid. ‘Sides, I’m a firm believer in hands on experience. You learn faster when you’ve got more at stake, believe me.”

To Captain Todd’s surprise, Tim blushes, leaning forward and locking eyes with him. “You said that earlier was a declaration,” he says, his cheeks pink but his eyes determined, wetting his lips unconsciously.

“Aye.”

“So a statement of intent, then.”

“That it was.”

“Then you’ll have no problems if I wager a kiss,” says Tim boldly, though his tongue trips over the words in how fast he’s speaking.

“You’re serious about this,” hums Jason almost wonderingly when Tim doesn’t back down, waiting expectantly for Jason’s response.

“I’ve already given you the shirt from my back,” replies Tim grimly. “I’ve nothing else, pirate.”

Jason lets the back of his knuckles brush softly over the soft cotton of Tim’s shirt like he’s stroking over bare skin, unscarred and unblemished from a life out a sea.

“Just a reminder that we play for keeps on this ship, love,” he murmurs throatily, and Tim’s lashes lower slightly even as his mouth thins and the contours of his expression harden with determination.

“So we have a wager?”

Jason crooks his eyebrows and lets his gaze rake hungrily over Tim’s lithe frame as a final warning.

“You don’t get to back out of this, love. But aye, you’ve got yourself a wager.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really late over here and I just finished writing this, so I really hope you guys enjoyed this. I'm not actually sure this is still a teen rating anymore, lmao.
> 
> Reviews and kudos help me figure out what I'm doing right and wrong with this story, so if you enjoyed it or want to see something happen I hope you'll leave a message.
> 
> My tumblr gets randomly nsfw, but if you wanna find me there you can check my ao3 profile lol.


	10. Five Card Draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy i managed to write something before the month was over, tbh. It's been really busy.

Tim gnaws his lips in frustration as Captain Todd flips the final card with a lazy smirk.

“Reveal.” With a huff and a glare, Tim flips his two and three of hearts over as Jason reveals a three of a kind.

“You’re cheating,” Tim accuses, jaw tightening when Captain Todd gives him a wry look with something hard lurking behind his amused gaze.

“A word of advice, kid.” He lounges back on the cushions easily, downing a large gulp of rum. “Accusing people with no proof on a pirate ship usually ends with blood, and if you can’t prove it, you’d better learn how to play the damn game better than they can.”

“So why aren’t I dead yet?” argues Tim, and Jason just huffs at him as the bottle is set down with a dull thud, slightly harder than strictly necessary.

“Don’t push your luck. After all,” he surveys the cards with a grin. “You owe me five kisses now.”

Tim’s face tints pink as his mouth thins into a flat line. “One more time,” he demands, sitting up a little straighter where he’s perched on a borrowed cushion cross-legged.

Jason scoffs at him. “I’m beginning to think kisses are cheap for you, Timmyboy. That’s more than enough of those; give me something else in return when I win.”

Baring his teeth at the _when_ , Tim wracks his head. “That’s not fair,” he argues, but Jason cuts in before he can even finish his sentence.

“Says the person who wanted his belt back after a single game.” He leers at Tim. “Sorry, love, but I doubt you’d kiss well enough for one kiss to be worth a rich man’s ring.”

Tim fumes at the jibe. “I don’t have anything else left to give you,” he grits out as Jason collects the cards and proceeds to shuffle them again.

Jason hums cheerfully. “Not my problem. After all, a belt and a ring like that…” He bridges the deck like he’s done it a thousand times. “I could easily pawn it off. I’m not obligated to give it back to you. Unless you make me a better offer…”

Groaning, Tim leans back. “Ten games,” he grits out, aggravated. “Ten wins, and you’ll give me back the belt and the ring.”

“Ten each, or fifteen _consecutive_ wins for both,” is Jason’s immediate counteroffer. “Even pirates have to eat, kid.”

“Twelve consecutive wins,” shoots back Tim. “Surely you can’t be scared of me beating you more than that in a _row_.”

Jason looks surprised at that, then he throws his head back in loud, raucous laughter. “Your baiting needs work, but you have yourself a deal. Twelve consecutive wins it is. But now, what’ll you give _me_? And no, I don’t want your damn shirt.”

Unconsciously, Tim fiddles with the hem of his sleeves, worries at the threads that are showing the first signs of fraying along the cuffs. “I – I don’t.” He flounders; he can’t believe he’s already exhausted his one piece of leverage, paltry though it was.

“Hm.” Jason tilts his head to study him. “A question and a truthful answer per win.”

“Would this also apply if I were to win?” asks Tim cautiously.

“Greedy boy.”

“Pirate,” Tim fires back, and Jason’s face twists in wry amusement, adds a half-shrug as acknowledgement.

“Fine, you brat, but you still owe me those kisses; don’t think I’ll be forgetting about those. Now that we’re done with negotiations, can we actually start playing?” He flicks five cards in Tim’s general direction.

“I still think you’re cheating,” mumbles Tim, picking up his cards to study them.

“I don’t need to cheat in a game of two people, give me some credit,” snorts Jason. “This a variant of what we normally play in the mess hall. Although, it’s probably because I’m not cheating that you’re having a tougher time.” He smirks at Tim’s obvious confusion. “You were reading off Roy’s cards, back then, weren’t you? All you had to do was figure out what patterns were coming out since everyone was cheating each other blind.”

“Well…yeah,” says Tim helplessly. “I – I thought that was how –”

“S’not how actual games work, kiddo,” grins Jason knowingly. “You need to start from the bottom up.”

“You’re a terrible teacher,” grumbles Tim, and Jason salutes him in a way that he had no idea could come across as so incredibly _obnoxious_.

“Tough luck. Call, raise, or check?”

“Check.”

“Good choice. I check as well. Planning on tossing any cards?”  Jason indicates Tim’s cards with a nod of his head.

Tim considers his cards; he has two of a kind consisting of a nine of hearts and spades and the rest are junk. Hesitantly, he throws down three cards that are immediately replaced with sharp flicks of Jason’s wrist.

“Gonna throw any yourself?” he asks, and Jason smirks and shakes his head.

“Show of hand,” announces Jason, and with a note of finality, Tim inhales deeply and turns his hand over.

“Hm. Three of a kind, not bad.” Jason raises a wry eyebrow at him. “At least you actually _have_ a hand.”

“Shut up. What do you have?” Tim cranes his head to see what Jason’s is.

“…you said you were good enough to win without cheating.” Tim crooks an obnoxious eyebrow at the cards in Jason’s possession, the six of hearts, clubs, and diamonds that narrowly loses out to Tim’s hand by a slim margin.

“I certainly won’t be losing twelve times consecutively to you, kid, at least not anytime soon” says Jason breezily, admitting defeat gracefully enough that it irks Tim. “Looks like you’ve finally got your beginner’s luck. Belatedly, but at least you actually _have_ it.”

“Shut up. Do I get my question now?”

“Cashing in on it now? By all means, fire away.” Jason smirks at him, lounging back like a king on his throne, and it needles Tim in all the wrong ways.

Tim sucks in a sigh and releases it, pondering his next words. “Why did you let Stephanie join your crew?” he asks. “What happened back when –”

“You only get one question, kid, what’ll it be?” Jason waves his hand impatiently. Tim growls petulantly at him, but corrects himself.

“When you kept me locked up,” he starts, his words pointed so that there’s no way Jason can forget that he’s still resentful, “what did you discuss with Stephanie?”

“That’s better,” hums Jason, crossing his hands behind his head in a show of relaxation. “Well, to start off, we just had a little chat. Don’t worry, there wasn’t much violence, or at all. Your friend, well, wanted to know why on earth you were here. Not that it mattered though. She was more or less trying to run that galleon on her own, more or less, and she was running out of supplies. Wasn’t much to loot from the ship, as it turns out. She was more than happy to join forces with us, on the condition that the kids she had been trying to free were dropped off at the next port. She wasn’t particularly interested in being a captain herself of an empty ship.”

“You’d have done that anyway? Dropping the kids off, I mean?” asks Tim curiously, forgetting he was technically only allotted one question.

“I’ll give you this one for free; like I said, we don’t sell kids off into slavery, not while I’m captain. As for why she was on that ship, well, I think she’d rather tell you to your face. Or at least she would have already, if you didn’t kick up a fuss and storm out.” Tim blushes at the reminder.

“I just.” He looks down at his clasped fingers. “I just don’t understand why she became a pirate.”

“Everyone’s got their reasons, kid.” Jason’s tone is unusually serious. “Life at sea’s a harsh one, regardless of which side of the law you’re on, or even if you’re a humble fisherman. You only get outcasts out here. People who can’t find a place where they belong. Sometimes they’re running from a crime they committed, sometimes they’re forced into it. Maybe they just want a place to be free, or a tale to tell their wives and children if they can imagine growing so old. The oceans a big place. Big enough for misfits to maybe eke out a place in the world they can call their own.”

Tim licks his lips hesitantly. The candle wax has steadily melted lower and lower throughout the night, the interplay of shadows and firelight framing Jason’s face in a way that has his features seem more angular and yet softer all at the same time.

“Why did you decide to become a pirate?” he asks softly, and for a moment Jason simply looks at him, as if to assess whether he can divulge such information to Tim, like he can test the mettle of Tim’s nature simply by the sheer weight of his gaze.

“Ah, but you’ll have to take another win for me to answer that, love,” smiles Jason crookedly, the moment slipping by like water through the thin cracks of Tim’s spindly fingers. “After all, it’s time for me to cash upon _my_ earnings.” He beckons Tim, crooking a finger which casts long shadows upon the wall like silent spells. Tim’s ears turn pink, but he slowly stretches out his legs, working the stiffness from them as he gets up, carefully stepping over the cards scattered about the floorboards to approach the pirate captain awaiting him; Captain Todd’s body language is relaxed as he lounges back with a lopsided smirk.

Tim’s fingers curl about Jason’s wrist; it’s warm and he can feel the telltale pulse thrumming beneath sunburnt skin as he tilts his head down to press a gentle kiss across the jut of Jason’s knuckles. He repeats it again; locking eyes with Jason’s determinedly even as he feels his face burning.

“You didn’t specify where you wanted them,” he mumbles throatily, his breath ghosting across Jason’s knuckles. Captain Todd’s eyes are dark, a lurking hunger in there Tim doesn’t want to acknowledge, bright with something that Tim thinks might be _fascination_.

“You’re finally learning, love,” murmurs Jason, his voice low and almost guttural. Tim ignores him and grazes a third kiss on the back of Jason’s hand. Then, quick as lightning, before he can react, Jason’s wrist twists; stronger, thicker fingers wrap and curl about Tim’s thinner wrist and reel him in. Stumbling, Tim gasps, eyes flying open in shock as his knees hit the cushion on either side of Jason’s legs. A hand cups the back of his head, tangling fingers gently into the mussed locks of his hair, his wrist being released but Jason’s fingers stroking the small of his back, preventing him from pulling away.

Jason’s face lifts closer; Tim’s eyes squeeze shut. Yet nothing is forthcoming, not even the anticipatory press of lips against his. Opening his eyes, Tim swallows thickly at the indescribable gaze in Jason’s expression, lips only centimeters away from his, waiting.

“Go on, impress me,” Jason whispers, a challenge shared between the space between their parted lips. Tim swallows, his heart threatening to beat out of the contours of his ribcages, and dips his head.

It’s like electricity shudders down his spine from all the points of contact; the fingers curling in his hair, the proprietary palm whose heat sinks into his nape, the fingers trailing along the curve of his spine that has Tim not quite arching away or towards Jason, the press of Jason’s lips along his own. He can’t tell, exactly, but he thinks he can taste the salt of the sea on Jason’s lips, the rasp of Jason’s stubble on his. Later on, it will annoy Tim that Jason has access to shaving tools when he does not, but in the moment he can only think about the way his hand presses against Jason’s chest to steady himself, that he can feel the heavy, telltale pound of Jason’s heartbeat that’s just as rapid and equally frightening as his own.

He pulls away from Jason, breathing harshly, chest rising and falling like he’s just ran a marathon. Jason is barely any better than him, but his gaze has Tim repressing heated shivers as Jason simply _looks_ at him in the silence of the cabin and the rhythmic rocking of waves crashing against the hull.

It’s hard to believe the kiss had been _chaste_.

“You have one more,” reminds Jason hoarsely, unblinkingly, and Tim shudders as Jason’s fingers skate down the slope of his spine.

Tim dips his head down once more, considering, before he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of Jason’s mouth, a minute peck.

“Good night,” he whispers, his throat dry, and somehow his muscles respond enough so that he can slowly, achingly pull himself away. Jason lets him leave without resistance, hands falling away, and Tim manages to back away a few steps. Remembering himself, Tim pulls his frayed self together, manages to turn away and walk the last few steps back to the bed as he silently slips into it and pulls the covers over his body.

Jason is unmoving, and Tim thinks he can feel his gaze eating away at him as he desperately pretends he’s somehow already falling asleep. At last, he hears Jason get up, a short two heavy footfalls. His breathe catches in his throat; the candlelight is extinguished. The soft _whumpf_ of Jason’s body falling back into his makeshift bed of cushions has Tim breathing out a silent sigh of relief, his heart thudding against his chest like a frantic horse unable to be calmed.

“Good night, Tim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my randomly nsfw [tumblr](http://rivetingfabrications.tumblr.com/) which is technically dc but is currently overrun with voltron stuff. Lol.
> 
> Anyway I hope you guys enjoyed, if you want more I hope you consider leaving a review ^^ It's where I find the motivation and determination to keep writing. You guys are awesome <3


	11. Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is brought to you by historical inaccuracy and me googling a lot of shit about Haiti's history

“…Hi.” Tim shuffles uncomfortably, wilting under the harsh glare belonging to Stephanie Brown as the door to Jason’s quarters clicks shut behind him. The sea breeze gusts strongly, worsening the bad case of bedhead he knows he’s sporting.

“Hi yourself.” She strides past him, purposefully shouldering past him. He winces.

“Okay, so I might have deserved that,” Tim admits, almost half-jogging to match her aggressively large strides.

“Might have.” Her ire belies her deadpan tone.

Tim sucks in a breath, abruptly pushing past her to block her way. “I have something to say to you.”

“Well, so did I last night, but that didn’t really matter, did it?” snips Stephanie.

“I want to apologize,” he blurts. Best to get it all out in the open before she throws the first punch. Stephanie doesn’t look convinced, and he thinks he sees her knuckles subtly whiten preemptively where they’re clutched at her sides.

“Spare me,” she snorts derisively.

“I’m sorry for treating you like that last night,” he says, immediately following up his words. “It was a shock seeing you again. I know that doesn’t excuse it, but I…I really didn’t know you were alive.” He glances away. “And finding you out here, of all places…” he gestures helplessly around him, the ocean sparkling in the bright morning sunlight.

“And is that supposed to make me forgive you?” She crosses her arms, eyeing him incredulously. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“It was a bit of a shock realizing that someone I thought I’d never see again suddenly reappear announcing that apparently she’s joining forces with the same people who’re holding me prisoner,” Tim retorts. To his surprise, the corner of Stephanie’s mouth twitches up ever so slightly in response.

“A prisoner, huh?” she eyes him drily, though he can tell she’s still mad. “You seem to be having a pretty good time of it considering you’re not even in the _brig_ , if you ask me.”

“They tried.”

“Apparently not hard enough.” She stalks off, brushing past him and leaving him blinking helplessly in her wake.

“Would have thought a little rich boy like you would have had better skills with the women.” Tim yelps as Jason saunters into his peripheral vision, fighting the unwanted blush rising to his cheeks as he unwillingly recalls the previous night’s poker rounds.

“Don’t you have better things to do than eavesdropping?” Tim remarks, recovering quickly as a scowl makes its way to his face.

“S’not my fault you’re talking right in the open,” snorts Captain Todd. “Anyway, get below deck. You’re needed in the galley.”

Tim blinks. “I’m…I’m not swabbing the deck?” he asks hesitantly, thinking he heard wrong.

“If you want to, that can be arranged –” before Jason even has a chance to finish, Tim ducks around the corner before Jason can subject him to even more manual labor.

~*~*~*~

“What, the captain sent me _you_?” The woman sweeps disapproving eyes down Tim’s lean body. “I thought I’d get Steph. That girl’s _great_.”

Tim winces. He’s seen this person around on the ship occasionally, her purple-blue hair and piercings striking even in the dim light of the galley. “You already met her?”

“Well, _yeah_. She’s easy to get along with; fit right in. Great to talk to too, and we can always use more girls. I swear, the _ego_ on this ship is enough to drive me mad sometimes. At least we’ll be hitting shore in a few days, only so long people can go being cooped up in cramped quarters.”

Tim files that piece of info away in his head for later. “Not many places a pirate can enter port, though,” he notes, making his tone light and innocent.

She only snorts at him shrewdly. “You won’t be getting anything else from me, rich kid. Name’s Harper Row.”

“It’s Tim,” he repeats tiredly for the umpteenth time. He’s already figured that the best policy for Captain Todd is to pointedly ignore his condescendingly obnoxious endearments, but that doesn’t mean he has to take it from the other crewmembers. “Any way, what you need me to do?”

She gestures behind her. “I got stuck with cooking this time around, and the captain wants you out from his hair, I guess. Which is why I guess you’re my new assistant for now.”

Tim wilts under her gaze. “I can make eggs?” he offers lamely, and Harper scoffs at him.

“Like I’m letting you anywhere near the kitchen where you could grab a knife, kid. You’re on clean up.” She tosses him a filthy rag that’s seen far better days. “Get it spotless, we don’t need any more rats running around.”

Surveying it, Tim realizes that the galley is rather small and cramped, while also being absolutely _grimy_. Tim cringes, Harper watching him like a hawk as he gets to work.

“What do you normally do when you’re not cooking?” he asks over Harper's intermittent grumbles as she slices and preps ingredients, throwing them haphazardly into the stew she’s making. 

“Whatever that needs to be done,” she answers. “Check the riggings and the supply stores, break up any fights that go on, stuff like that which can be handled before it gets to Roy or Dick. Speaking of which, someone’s snuck food from the pantry; I bet it was Roy again, that shithead. Stop touching that,” she barks as Tim’s fingers travel a bit too close to a bread knife.

“It’s _dull_ ,” he protests, but her glare freezes any more of his complaints. Huffing, he scrubs fitfully at a particularly resilient patch of cooking oil.

“You’re even more of a stick in the mud than she said you were,” Harper says wryly.

“I’m not,” mutters Tim petulantly. His head jerks up in surprise as he processes that. “Wait, _am_ I?”

“You have no idea,” scoffs Harper. “Though she didn’t really want to talk about you.”

Tim heaves a sigh, no doubt in his mind about whom Harper is referring to. “I think throwing me into the sea probably sounds appealing to her.”

“Damn. What did you do to her?”

“Besides snapping at her last night?” Tim grunts as the oil stain finally disappears and swivels around to work on another one. “Nothing else except me trying to apologize.”

“I meant as in before you ended up on this ship. ‘Cause it’s obvious there’s a lot going on between you two.”

 _“Timothy, you must be aware of your status and your position. You’re old enough to understand that you can’t associate with that indecent girl. People will think_ you _were the one she –”_

_“Tim, you think I’m going to stand for this? You don’t even get why I’m upset!”_

_“But I still want to be around you, Steph, I don’t understand –”_

_“Wanting to be around me and pretending you don’t know me when there’s someone you know in the immediate vicinity are two very different things, Tim!”_

“None of your business,” huffs Tim, glaring daggers at the smear he only succeeds in widening.

“Like I said. Stick in the mud.” Harper snorts derisively and leaves him be.

~*~*~*~*~

Tim manages to waylay Stephanie after Harper finally kicks him out of the galley for being too slow if admittedly thorough, and they share a wary glaring match as a few onlookers give them odd glances in passing while doing their usual tasks.

“What?” mutters Stephanie sourly, crossing her arms.

Tim sighs, shifting his weight uneasily. “Can we…talk somewhere else that’s more private?” he offers hesitantly.

“Whatever you want to say you can say it here.”

“I wanted to ask about what happened to the child,” he says quietly.

“The kids are all in the hold –”

“ _Steph_ ,” he adds on pleadingly. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She falls silent, as he expected. Finally, wearily, she accedes. “You’re right, let’s go somewhere else.”

They make their way to a more secluded area of the deck where their voices don’t travel over the wind. Tim leans self-consciously against the cabin wall while Stephanie faces him, back to the railing as the wind teases her hair into unruly locks.

“You disappeared when you were pregnant,” murmurs Tim quietly. “I – I was frantic. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive. Was it – did the birth go well?”

“Yeah,” sighs Stephanie as her head tilts up to gaze at the clouds rushing by. “It did. A healthy boy.” She smiles sadly.

“What happened to him?”

“I…” her head turned away. “I left him at an orphanage where I knew he’d be treated well.”

Tim stiffens, but it makes sense. “Back in our town?”

“No. By that point I had already left. I…I had to get out of there, Tim. Public opinion of me wasn’t exactly…favorable.” She laughs hollowly.

“What they thought never mattered, Steph. Not to you.”

“No. But they did to _you_.”

Exhaling, Tim scrubs a hand over his face. “It was a difficult position to be in. But I should have stayed by you.”

“You did. Just not in the way I needed,” acknowledges Stephanie. “I thought…I thought maybe a fresh start would be good. To be someone better.”

“You thought becoming a pirate was the way?”

“It had always been an option.” She shrugs. “The ocean always called to me. Not in the same way it called to my old man, though, since he was a small-time crook then. But I had already made the decision to sail; and a life at sea is no place for a child.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Steph?” Tim looks down, wonders if the children she saved below decks are her redemption for the child she couldn’t keep. “I would have helped.”

“You couldn’t have done anything, Tim. You…you wanted to make your parents proud of you. You didn’t owe me anything. I didn’t want to owe _you_ anything.”

“I would have done it because we were, at the very least, friends.”

Her lips curl upwards into the first, real honest smile he’s seen. “Oh, c’mon, you definitely loved me.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Tim quirks an eyebrow at her hopefully and she groans in frustration.

“You suck, I can’t stay mad at you when you’re staring me like a lost soul.”

“That’s a relief, because I was running out of options.”

She elbows him; he winces at the bony dig of her arm that’s seen much more hardship than his.

“So anyway, how did you end up here?” she asks.

“Do you remember Kon?” he asks simply. At her nod, he continues. “He sent me a letter about my parents. He said he had some information regarding what happened to them. I was going to meet him in Bayaha. Except that I was waylaid and well…the rest is history.”

She stills. “You…you do know where we’re going, right?”

He shakes his head. “No one will tell me,” he says, frustrated. “Did they tell you?”

“Captain Todd promised me they’d drop the children off at the next port. He agreed to make a slight detour for me. We’re reaching an island off the coast of Hispaniola in a matter of days, Tim.”

Tim’s eyes widen. “Then that means…” he trails off.

“You said Bayaha, right? We’re passing it on the way. You might be able to buy passage on a different ship to the mainland, if you escape once we make port.”

Tim winces. “I don’t have money.”

Stephanie sighs. “Just as well. Tortuga’s a pirate haven. I don’t think you’d be any better off.”

“Still.” Tim’s mind is contemplating all the possibilities, the gears turning in his mind. “At least now I know where we’re headed. Tortuga.” He tastes the word on his lips. He glances at her, a thought occurring to him. “Wait, I thought you joined his crew. Aren’t you going to stop me or something?”

She snorts. “Are you kidding me? I don’t trust Captain Todd as far as I could throw him.”

“That’s not very far.”

“ _Exactly_. He’s dropping the kids off at a pirate nest, Tim. He’ll probably sell them into slavery the first chance he gets. I’m not about to let all my hard work go to waste.”

Tim swallows thickly, remembers the dark sincerity in Jason’s eyes. _“We don’t sell kids off into slavery, not while I’m captain.”_

“I don’t know, Steph,” he says hesitantly, but Stephanie talks over him.

“Anyway, I’ll help you. I don’t hate you _that_ much.”

“Good to know,” he laughs, something in his chest easing. _Freedom._ The trip had gone on longer than expected, worries burdening his chest as he had wondered if he was ever going to see his hometown again. It didn’t matter. Once he finds Kon, it’d be all right, and he can buy passage on another ship somehow back home.

He just has to figure out how to _reach_ Kon. Heart fluttering with anticipation, Tim glances out longingly over the vast expanse of blue.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Home.”

“Not really.”

He considers that. “Would it be strange if I said I didn’t really either?”

She shrugs. “Probably. But I sorta get it. You miss the normalcy of it, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the thing.” She laces her fingers behind her head. “I miss it, but I know it’ll never satisfy me anymore. I’d get too bored. Can’t go back anymore. What would I do, settle down and find myself a proper husband?” She punches Tim playfully when he’s unable to hold back a loud snort. “You ass.”

“You brought it up,” he manages, rubbing the sore spot she punched. “I’m just trying to imagine you all properly dressed and wandering around with a parasol.”

“I’ll have you know I would look _dashing_ with a parasol.” She twirls and pretends to curtsey, batting her eyelashes at him. He bursts into laughter again.

“ _Stop_. That’s just _strange_.”

“Oi, are you lazing around –” Tim and Stephanie immediately sit up a bit straighter, quelling their laughter as Jason rounds the corner and stops short in front of them. His eyebrows raise questioningly.

Stephanie fires off a lazy half-cocked salute at him. “Aye aye, cap. I already finished helping Roy move the barrels. Anything else you need me to do?”

“See if Dick needs any help.” Jason’s eyes land on Tim, his gaze oddly curious.

“Sure. C’ya around Timmy.” She grins at him wryly and saunters off past Jason.

“I think that’s the shortest time I’ve ever seen a woman stay mad at anyone,” he remarks and Tim just half shrugs at him.

“I think we just associate with different kinds of people,” Tim says dryly and Jason gives him an odd look again. Self-conscious, Tim frowns at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” hums Jason, tilting his head to study him better. “I didn’t know you actually knew how to smile.”

“What?” Tim scowls at him, brows furrowing. Jason jabs a finger at him. “Yeah, that’s your usual expression, kid. Easy to rile you up, too.”

“Shut up,” Tim mutters, turning away to face the open sea. A mistake. He senses Jason approaching closer, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“I can’t even leave you alone for a half second without you getting up to some sort of trouble, can I?” Jason’s voice is amused.

“I don’t think trying to apologize to her is considered trouble,” defends Tim, heart racing.

“We’ll see.” Jason’s voice brushes his ear, soft and quiet. “Don’t forget whose prisoner you are.”

“You can’t keep me on this ship forever.”

“I can certainly keep you in the brig forever.”

Tim sighs. “How many poker games would I have to win simultaneously for my freedom?” he offers.

“Your freedom’s not a negotiation, kid. And that’s final.”

Tim’s about to snap back a biting retort, when Roy skids around the corner, interrupting them.

“Jason!”

“What?” annoyed, Jason turns around to him. “What happened?”

“There’s a naval ship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos or a comment, they make my day and my time worthwhile <3
> 
> I derp around a lot on [tumblr](http://rivetingfabrications.tumblr.com/) when procrastinating but it gets nsfw so you've been warned.
> 
> Also today marks a full year since I've been on this site <3 so this chapter is to celebrate :)


	12. The Naval Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back! This chapter is longer than usual, i think, I hope you enjoy <3

“What flag?” asks Jason suspiciously, turning away from Tim to face Roy. Breathing an internal sigh of relief at no longer being the subject of Jason’s scrutiny, Tim edges around to the side as Roy speaks up once more.

“That’s the thing. I’m not so sure it’s actually navy.” Roy exchanges a sharp look with Jason. “I think it’s been trailing us for a while, but it hasn’t tried to engage us yet.”

“Alert the rest of the crew,” says Jason sharply. “I need to get a look of that ship.” Grabbing Roy’s spyglass, Jason whirls around and snaps his fingers at Tim. “Not you. You’re going back into the cabin.”

“No.” Tim fixes him with a flat stare. “You’re not locking me up every time you think I’m getting in your way.”

“Who said I think that you’re in the way?” asks Jason mockingly. “I’m simply more concerned that you’ll try to alert the _authorities_. Which, as you can imagine, simply won’t do.” He nods to Roy. “Get him back in my cabin.”

Tim takes an unconscious step back, jolting when the hard wood of the ship’s railing presses against his back with nowhere to run.

“But it’s obviously _not_ a naval ship,” he bites back, narrowing his eyes as Roy takes two steps forward, arms already outstretched. The wind gusts strongly; he tucks the aggravatingly loose strands of hair behind his ear so that his sight isn’t obstructed. “You’re flying your colours; that’s more than enough reason for real naval officers to give chase.” He nods upwards to where the red skull emblazoned across a black flag waves starkly against the bright blue skies.

“Still, wouldn’t want your pretty little head getting the idea that another ship might be cozier than mine,” retorts Jason easily.

“Perish the thought. Your company is just so….enjoyable.” Tim shoots back sarcastically, scooting backward as far as he can possibly go. Roy stares, and then bursts into laughter, stopping in his tracks.

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever expressed that feeling verbally, captain.”

“ _Roy_.” Jason jerks his head towards Tim again. Chuckling, Roy nods and takes another step forward.

“I’ll wreck your entire cabin again,” threatens Tim, though he stops trying to pretend that the ship’s railings will extend just for him to escape the huge calloused hands reaching for him.

“Charming. You can tie him to the bed again if you need to, Roy. It’ll make a pretty picture for when I’m done sorting through this,” leers Jason.

“ _Again_?” queries Roy, arching a skeptical brow and turning to look at Jason, and Tim reddens at the implications.

“My mistake,” says Jason lazily. “It was handcuffs last time, wasn’t it?” He smirks at the way Tim glowers at him furiously.

“I’d like to see you try,” scowls Tim, bristling angrily, and Roy just sighs and stalks forward.

“Do you really want to do this the hard way?” he asks.

“Doesn’t he always?” snorts Jason, turning around as he shakes the spyglass open expertly. “I’m counting on you, Roy. Is the ship to starboard?”

“Yep.”

“Once you’ve finished come join me,” commands Jason, popping the collar of his coat. “Chances are we’re gonna need all hands on deck.” Turning the collar, Captain Todd exits, leaving Tim to face off with Roy alone.

Roy’s certainly stronger than Tim by a long shot, but Tim scowls. Jutting his chin out in a mulish pout, he regards the redhead warily. This section of the ship is narrow, but Tim thinks he has just enough wiggle room to get by.

“Look,” sighs Roy, scratching his head, and Tim notes how his body language subtly relaxes in an attempt to be disarming, though it’s poised to snap into either an offensive or defensive position at a second’s notice. “I have a hundred other things that I need to be doing, none of which includes forcibly dragging you into the captain’s cabin. Which, by the way, is going to look pretty farfetched, if you catch my meaning.”

“Not my problem,” says Tim stubbornly, edging away further.

“Actually, it kind of is. You’re a smart kid, Tim.” Roy crosses his arms across the broad expanse of his chest. “What is it going to look like to the crew if you’re forcibly resisting me and getting nowhere?”

Tim glowers, but he sees the merit in Roy’s view. “They’ll think I’m an easy target,” he admits reluctantly.

“Right. And look, I have my orders, and I don’t want to get in trouble with Jay, all right? It’s my responsibility to make sure that I get you into that cabin, got it? But I’ll make a deal with you.” Roy reaches out to him, palm facing upwards. “If you come with me without a fuss, I won’t tie you up, got it? You can make as huge a mess as you want in his cabin, not my problem.” He winks.

Tim blinks, taken aback a little. Reading his mind, Roy adds, “he only said to tie you down if I needed to; whatever happens once you’re inside and I’m off doing my duties is none of my business.”

“I – oh.” Tim considers the hand extended to him. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he demands.

Roy shrugs. “You don’t,” he admits. “But like I said, we could do this all day, and eventually you’re going to end up in that cabin whether you like it or not. I’d really just rather not expend all my energy chasing you around this damn ship when we might have to fight an actual battle.”

“I could be useful in a battle,” shoots back Tim though he’s lying through his teeth. Roy gapes at him and then promptly dissolves into laughter.

“I don’t doubt it, kid,” gasps Roy after several seconds, and Tim glowers at the way he’s dramatically clutching his hand to his stomach. “But I’m more concerned that you’d be trying to run _us_ through with whatever you could get your hands on.” Abruptly his laughter fades, eyes hardening like cold steel. Tim flinches backwards at the serious expression, Roy taking two steps forward that carries him more than halfway to where Tim’s flattened his back to the rail.

“You’re plucky kid,” admits Roy honestly, no lingering traces of amusement in his expression. “But in a fight where your life’s on the line, you’re a liability.” Tim grits his teeth at the pirate, but can’t find any words to refute him. “The captain wants you in his quarters, and that’s that.”

Tim takes a deep breath and releases it. He’s out of chances, and if Roy’s abrupt change in tone is any indication, further protests are only going to end with more trouble.

“Fine,” he relents, crossing his arms angrily to show that he’s _not_ happy with this arrangement. He’d been a fool to think that pirates could even vaguely be reasoned with, considering his severe lack of bargaining power.  Roy extends an open palm towards him; he swats it away bitterly. “I can walk by myself,” he spits, striding across the deck. He doesn’t pass Roy nearly fast enough to avoid seeing his face change into a look of surprise, somewhat taken aback. Yet Roy doesn’t say anything, only choosing to walk a few steps behind him as Tim storms off in the direction of Jason’s quarters.

The crewmembers that he passes sneak cautious, wary glances at his thunderous expression even as they go about their own work until he reaches Jason’s quarters. He wrenches the door open and storms in, but not before he turns back slightly to give Roy the biggest glare he can muster.

“You promised,” he bites out grimly to remind the pirate, distrustful and wary that Roy might renege on his assurance.

“I did,” Roy says, annoyance seeping above the surface as Tim passes over the threshold. The second the door locks behind Tim, he flings himself onto the bed and punches the pillow bitterly.

It would have been easier if Jason had just ordered Roy to lock him in the hold instead. He takes several deep breaths to try and recollect himself. He counts to seven slowly, controlling his rapid breaths to match the pace. Feeling his elevated heartbeat slowly abate, Tim repeats the count five more times, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the anger threatening to seep back into his thoughts once more.

When he feels more in control of himself, Tim rolls onto his back and stares blankly at the ceiling. The cabin isn’t particularly soundproof so he can hear the constant pound of feet against the deck and the calls of the crewmen communicating with each other as they make preparations for whatever ship is tailing them. It’s hard to hear over the omnipresent sound of the waves, but Tim doesn’t pick out a sense of anxiety in their voices or in the gait of their footsteps – the crew seems relatively self-assured for the most part, if wary. It’s hard to say.

Still. He clambers off the bed, surveying the room. Jason had managed to clear up most of the mess Tim had made in his rage just the previous night (and it frustrates Tim that he doesn’t seem to have a good grasp on his temper anymore like he used to). However, Captain Todd hadn’t had the opportunity to fix or replace the locks that Tim had broken on the chests, and Tim resolves that it’s an excellent time to see what the Captain might be hiding. He’s already gone through most of the loot that Jason used to carelessly thrown on the bed until he’d finally cleared it for proper use, but none of it is particularly useful, just odd bits and baubles that look pretty, but Tim didn’t come from a merchant family to learn nothing – he knows value when he sees it, and most of Jason’s loot that he carelessly stashed on his bed comprises of cheap glass and pretty beads and stones and necklaces and the occasional pewter goblet. He suspects breakables and the truly valuable pieces are stored elsewhere, and Tim resolves to go find them in the hopes that maybe his belongings are well hidden somewhere in the room as well.

He tests every floor and wall board that the bed and the desk aren’t blocking – there’s a loose springboard that gets Tim’s hopes rising, only to expose mold and a rat carcass – Tim cringes and replaces the floorboard just as fast as he had pried it open. Save for a useful knothole that overlooks the decks, Tim doesn’t find anything else so he turns his attention towards the chests. Tugging open one of the chests with the broken lock, Tim properly sifts through its contents. He pulls out the captain’s log book first – Tim’s eyes widen and he shoves that under the mattress to flick through later. Several scarves, some vials that he can’t make out the contents of, an empty hip flask, a stained glass candle cup that’s pretty albeit inexpensive, and a full case of pistol rounds later, Tim’s fingernails scrape across something that’s smooth to the touch and polished. He pulls it out, and his eyes blink in astonishment.

It’s a chess set.

Tim’s immediate thought is that the poor soul that Jason must have surely robbed it from lost a _gorgeous_ piece of craftsmanship, and that Captain Todd had a better eye for detail than he had given him credit for. The box is wooden – mahogany, Tim thinks reverently, running a hand over the wooden rim and over the lid with familiar black and white squares. Scanning the bottom of the box, there’s a craftsman’s mark, but no common brand that Tim’s acquainted with – commissioned then, probably. He unclasps the lid, peering inside – the chess pieces seem of French-make judging by the bishops at any rate, though that doesn’t particularly tell Tim anything. Picking up a white bishop, he studies it, thumb carefully scraping across the polished material – _ivory_. Tim’s best guess is that it’s of walrus tusk, the entire chess set probably worth a small fortune, then.

Still, Tim opens the box a little wider and catches sight of an odd piece- the black king. It’s made of a different material; a touch is all that Tim requires to tell that it’s ebony wood – an expensive replacement for a presumably lost or broken piece. Still, it’s made to fit perfectly into its unique plush velvet groove that each individual piece is nestled in. Maybe Jason thought that the peculiar piece made it unsellable – or did he choose to hang on to this set and keep it locked away until he could find someone who could assess its worth? Tim doesn’t know. He doesn’t imagine that pirates would have time to try and get the most out of their money, though, or that pirates know how to play a gentleman’s game. At least until he catches the faint words etched into the bottom of the lid.

_For Jason, for his twelfth birthday._

Tim abruptly closes the lid with a loud clack, leaning away like he feels like he’s stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have. He doesn’t know why. It feels personal, and Tim wonders why he feels like an intruder. It’s a key to his captor, a link that maybe Tim can eventually exploit. Most of all, it’s a mystery.

He jerks up at the sound of feet pounding against the deck, agitated orders being shouted that he can’t discern clearly through the walls. Tim buries the chess set back where he found it and presses his ear against the walls just next to the small knothole he can barely see out of. Struck by a flash of inspiration, he snatches up the candle cup which he had tossed onto his bed, pressing its rim to the wall to better hear what’s going on beyond the walls of Jason’s quarters.

“Be on your guard, I’d trust a rat more than I trust him; just because he’s not here to fight doesn’t mean he can’t.” Dick’s orders cut through the surge of voices.

“Why the hell are we letting him on board?” Roy’s voice is easily discernable through the noise, though he isn’t visible through the knothole. “Jason, this is a bad idea.”

“I want to know why he’s tailing us. Best to just confront him head to head rather than drawing this out; I want to sleep well tonight, thanks.” Jason breezes through the tiny gap of the knothole for a brief second and disappears the other side. “He _claims_ he’s unarmed.” Jason’s snort is incredulous and dismissive.

“I believe him,” mutters Dick grimly. “He doesn’t need to be armed to take us on.”

“Shut up Dick, you’re supposed to be morale here. Everyone be careful; he’s coming.”

The noise level increases; Tim huffs and squints through the knothole and abandons his eavesdropping for the time being to trying and catch sight of whoever the newcomer is.

Then a gloved hand grasps the railing, right in Tim’s line of sight, pulling the body attached to it up. Tim flinches back as an orange-black mask appears over the edge of the ship, followed by the rest of the stranger. A single eye is all that he can see of the man beneath the mask, and the mysterious newcomer drops to his feet steadily in the center of the deck, barely even flinching as Jason’s men circle him warily.

“Been awhile, Captain Todd. Tight ship you’re running as ever, I see.” The man sounds nearly dismissive, barely even acknowledging the pirates surrounding him to address Jason instead.

“ _Deathstroke_.” Dick’s voice cuts through once more, tense and wary. “What do you want?”

“Ah.” Deathstroke turns a half step, facing off to the side to presumably address Dick. “It’s been awhile, Grayson. You’re looking well.”

“You mean since you last tried to kill me?”

“You seem to have recovered,” notes Deathstroke dryly, and Tim marvels at how he can practically hear the _smirk_ in his voice through the wall. “I’m not here to try again this time, though.”

“Enough.” Jason’s sharp voice rings out. “What do you want, Deathstroke? You’re not here to catch up. Shame that the navy hasn’t found your barnacle-encrusted ass yet and hanged you for going rogue.”

“Of course not.” Deathstroke’s voice is deceptively silky. “If the navy can’t catch you, they certainly can’t catch me. But, more importantly, I’m here for information. And…perhaps a person.”

“You’re not getting a single person on this ship, Deathstroke.” Tim nearly startles at the tangible ferocity present in Jason’s voice, breath catching as Deathstroke slowly turns, facing Tim’s direction once more.

His heart stops when Deathstroke seems to look right at him.

“On the contrary, I believe I will.” Deathstroke’s visible eye glitters dangerously like sunlight off beaten steel. He turns away; Tim exhales shakily, freed from the alarming feeling like he was at the mercy of a predator. “But, it would be a shame to kill all of you when I’m just asking for a few things.”

“You ass-” snaps someone, but Dick interrupts.

“What do you _want_ , Deathstroke?” he repeats once more, an edge of irritation entering his voice.

“Ever the peacemaker, aren’t you, Grayson,” sneers Deathstroke flippantly. “I’d like to have Rose back, if you’d please.”

Rose. Tim flicks through his memory. He’s the only prisoner on this ship. She might be a crewmember, or one of the kids in the hold.

“Rose? She left ages ago,” rebuffs Dick, confusion evident in his voice. “She wanted to strike out on her own.”

Deathstroke makes a noise of disbelief in his throat. “Right. I’ll give you guys one more chance.”

“Seriously,” scoffs Jason. “You know how Rose is; she’s your own damn daughter.”

Deathstroke’s not facing Tim anymore, but his body language is nothing short of dangerous. “I know you think that having had a tryst with her makes you an expert on her, but I beg to disagree.” His voice drops lowly.

“I – what?” Jason scoffs, but Tim’s eyes widen like dinner plates at the split second of hesitation in his voice. “I would _never_ –”

“Don’t lie, Captain Todd,” sneers Deathstroke. “I know she’s in your cabin, hiding from me.”

“I don’t know where the hell you’re getting your info, but it’s wrong,” snaps Jason. “She’s not on my goddamn ship, Deathstroke, you have _no_ fucking right –”Deathstroke _moves._ Tim starts when he realizes he’s no longer visible in the knothole’s periphery, panicking as the sounds of fighting erupts on the ship instantaneously.

“Stop him!”

It’s too close quarters for Captain Todd’s men to use firearms, deduces Tim from the lack of gunshots, scrambling madly for a means to defend himself. The shouts are becoming increasingly louder, the clang of steel on steel – Deathstroke probably managed to grab a sword from some pirate with an unfortunately weak grip. He keeps track of the battle through sound alone as the noises approach closer and closer until it’s right outside the cabin door, wringing his hands desperately as he backs as far away from the locked door as possible.

“Don’t let him –”

“What the fuck are you all doing –”

“Get back, I’ll handle him myself!”

Tim by no means is expecting it, but he nearly jumps ten feet into the air as the door is _physically_ kicked down, the fearsome masked man instantly spinning around to fend off a mob of Jason’s men as the door falls down with a terrific _bang,_ his back towards Tim for a few precious moments.

Tim’s body instantly moves on instinct. He hurls the candle holder as hard as he can. He doesn’t know _how_ , but Deathstroke moves to deflect it with his acquired rapier like he had two eyes in the back of his head. A flick of the blade sends the candle holder shattering to the floor, shards scattering across the floor.

The noise is all the distraction Tim needs. Deathstroke’s visible eye widens in surprise as Tim throws his blanket at him like a net. Stumbling back, Deathstroke growls as the blanket obscures his vision.

And like an idiot, Tim charges.

The idea was to slam into Deathstroke’s stomach, to offset his balance of gravity the way Connor had taught him all those years ago when they used to roughhouse together in mock fights. Yet when Tim threw his entire weight against Deathstroke, it was like running into a brick wall.

Deathstroke doesn’t give an inch, left arm wrapping around Tim like a vise – Tim can barely believe that a man could hold so much strength in his non-dominant hand – before Deathstroke whirls, the blanket falling from his face and trapped between their bodies. Steel presses against Tim’s throat; he stills his frantic movements as Deathstroke expertly backs into Jason’s quarters as Jason’s crew shout from beyond the threshold; it’s too tight a squeeze for more than one man to force through at a time, and Deathstroke somehow, remarkably, holds all the advantages.

“Hm.” Tim shudders as he feels that merciless eye staring down at him. “I suppose Captain Todd was telling the truth after all.”

“I’m not Rose,” Tim manages, but stops short at saying anything else as his Adam’s apple bobs against the blade.

“Evidently,” snorts the man dryly. “No, you’re his new bed partner, aren’t you?”

Tim flushes to the roots of his hair. He desperately wants to protest but the blade forces him to remain quiet.

“Tim!” shouts Roy, rushing into view from the broken doorframe. “Hang on, we’ll –”

“Spare me,” drawls Deathstroke, and Jason shoulders into view, blazing eyes meeting Tim’s stricken ones. “We all know how this will play out, Captain Todd.”

Jason’s visibly grinding his teeth, but he stays silent. Tim hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as Deathstroke tilts the blade. It catches the sunlight filtering in as the sword nicks skin, drawing blood.

“Stand down.”

“I appreciate it, Captain Todd,” says Deathstroke mockingly, as Jason’s crewmembers begrudgingly lower their weapons. “You must _really_ like this one.” He nudges Tim. “Well, go on.”

Tim takes a half step forward. And another. Deathstroke keeps pace with him easily. Slowly and carefully, they make their way towards the side Deathstroke boarded their ship. Jason’s face is expressionless; Tim can’t figure out what he’s thinking. He tries hard not to breathe as the blade remains perfectly still against his flesh, a constant pressure. Deathstroke’s hand never shakes at all, and Tim wonders just how self-assured and experienced the man has to be to have that perfect motor control. Halfway there, Deathstroke clicks his tongue loudly.

“Ah-ah-ah, none of that now, Grayson. You won’t get away with a sneak attack like that.” Tim can’t help a sharp inhale; the blade cuts a little deeper. He’s nudged again a little harder. “Get a move on, would you?”

When they’ve finally approached the railing, Tim glances over the side and sees a small rowboat that’s lashed to the sides of Jason’s galleon. Then he’s whirled around as Deathstroke easily backs up until he’s gone as far as he can without clambering over the sides.

“You’re a pretty one,” he hums, and Tim can’t help the tremor that flickers through his body. “What’s your name?”

“Tim,” he offers shortly, relieved as the knife relaxes enough for him to take a breath.

“Obedient, too,” Deathstroke notes in amusement. “You’ve trained him well, Captain Todd.”

“Give him back,” snaps Jason. “He’s of no use to you.”

“Hm.” Tim gets the impression that Deathstroke is smiling. “But then how will I get back to my ship in one piece?”

“Deathstroke!” growls Jason threateningly, but then the blade presses once more against Tim’s throat.

“One of you gentlemen throw me a pair of handcuffs, would you?” leers Deathstroke. When no one moves, Tim’s breath hitches as the knife traces a fine line of red over his skin. “I’m not asking again,” Deathstroke warns. A pair of handcuffs are tossed to him; Deathstroke catches the handcuffs expertly with his rapier by the chain before letting them drop to the floor.

In one smooth movement, he sheathes his weapon in a loosened belt loop. Roy starts towards them, but then in a flash there’s pressure around Tim’s throat, Deathstroke’s massive hands practically squeezing the life from Tim. He panics, thrashing for air as the huge fingers brutally clamp down on his air passageways. Roy stops in his tracks. Tim’s pinned arms are released; he fights against the stranglehold, his fingers helpless to stop Deathstroke’s hands from suffocating him. Clawing desperately at the chokehold, Tim gasps frantically as Deathstroke says something, shifting to pick up the shackles and lock them against Tim’s wrists. The death grip relaxes though Deathstroke’s hand remains warningly on his throat. Tim swallow down a huge lungful of air, blinking away the tears reflexively forming at the corner of his eyes. Then before he even realizes it, Tim yelps as the world flips upside down, Deathstroke hoisting him easily onto one broad shoulder as the blanket falling uselessly to the ground.

“You’re going to not squirm or move unless you want to die, got it?” Deathstroke asks grimly. Tim just nods as best as he can, still reeling from the dancing spots in his vision. Satisfied, Deathstroke vaults over the railing, his grip on Tim secure as he easily clambers down the rope ladder one-armed like it’s nothing to him. Tim is dumped unceremoniously into the rowboat with a loud grunt when they’re hovering a few feet above it; Deathstroke jumps in behind him and cuts the tether with the rapier, keeping his balance as the boat rocks dangerously close to the water.

“So, how long have you been Todd’s bedmate?” asks Deathstroke breezily once the boat settles, and Tim stiffens. He glances away, curled up defensively as far as he can be from Deathstroke as the pirate takes the oars. He glances up to where Deathstroke is rowing, the naval ship’s flags displaying the same colors as Deathstroke’s mask.

“How did you know I was in there?” he asks quietly, choosing to ignore the question. Deathstroke scoffs at him.

“I saw you.”

“That was a tiny knothole,” Tim protests, but a single gleam in Deathstroke’s visible eye makes him fall silent once more.

“So, Rose isn’t on the ship, is she?” asks Deathstroke calmly, his row strokes even as the boat cuts through the rippling ocean waters.

“What does she look like?”

“Long silver hair, eyepatch from when I last saw her,” Deathstroke responds with a careless shrug.

Tim shakes his head. Deathstroke huffs. “Damn. Have to start from scratch all over again.”

Tim glances worriedly towards where Jason’s ship is gradually growing smaller in the distance. From here, he can make out the ship name _Sheila Haywood_ emblazoned into the side.

“So, how did you wind up on Todd’s ship?” The question is asked casually.

Tim glances away again. “It doesn’t matter,” he retorts shortly.

“No?” Deathstroke shrugs as best as he can while rowing. “Well you can’t have been on there for too long; you don’t have the mean look to you that seasoned seamen have, and you haven’t been marked as Todd’s as far as I can tell.

“Marked?” Tim shudders, face paling. Deathstroke smirks at him.

“Nothing bad, kid; really more for your protection than anything. You know, usually men will jump at the chance to bed the captain’s woman unless she’s blatantly off limits. But hey, maybe Todd’s crew is one of a kind.” Deathstroke’s derisive tone suggests otherwise. Tim can’t blame him.

“I’m not his woman,” he mutters, hugging his knees to his chest and shivering in the cold ocean breeze. For a split second, he misses the warmth of Jason’s captain’s coat; he immediately reprimands himself – and Tim wonders with a jolt if _that_ was what Deathstroke meant by being marked.

Deathstroke only snorts dismissively. “Right.” The rest of the time is spent in silence, the waves rocking against the boat and Deathstroke’s smooth, efficient strokes of the oars. When they’re much closer to Deathstroke’s ship than the Sheila Haywood, Deathstroke beckons him over. Warily, Tim clambers over, keeping as much space as he can between him and the pirate.

“Well, it’s been fun, kid, but this is where we part ways.”

Tim panics. “If you kill me, I’m capsizing this rowboat,” he threatens before realizing how ludicrous his threat sounds.

Deathstroke barks with laughter. “Nothing of the sort,” he reassures, but Tim isn’t even remotely comforted. “If you had any bit of visible seafaring skills, maybe I’d keep you. But as it is, it looks like Todd can’t even use you as a cabin boy I don’t need another mouth to feed. I just needed you until we were out of firing range.” Then Deathstroke lurches forward – Tim tries to scuttle back but to no avail. Deathstroke yanks on the oars, pulling them partially out of the water and driving the butt of them brutally into Tim’s gut. Tim cries out as Deathstroke pushes him overboard like a sack of potatoes.

Tim’s head breaks the water desperately as he tries to paddle with his handcuffed arms. “W-wait!” he calls desperately, but the man only laughs at him, readjusting his position to start rowing again.

“Nothing personal, kid,” calls the man. “Just survive for long enough until they rescue you. If they do, that is.”

Tim tries to paddle after the boat, but the boat cuts easily through the waves as he bobs uselessly in the tide.

“Please,” he gasps desperately, reaching out with his manacled hands, but Deathstroke’s not even looking at him any longer; the boat leaves him to flounder in the sea, the _Sheila Haywood’s_ sails stretches of ocean away on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bored on  [tumblr](http://rivetingfabrications.tumblr.com/) and I love talking to people, so hit me up there!
> 
> Kudos/comments are really appreciated and keep me inspired <3


	13. Willful Ignorance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! I'm so sorry for the long wait - life and school have been kicking my butt. Please enjoy the unusually long chapter. Thank you for your patience, and sorry for making some of you worry. Tumblr wasn't really enjoyable for me anymore and it was being a distraction from both schoolwork and writing, which is why I deleted my account on there. But it makes me really happy that some of you worried about me; I'm really flattered that you guys love my writing so much. Sorry for not giving proper notice! I hope the chapter makes up for it.

The water is _freezing_. Tim’s head breaks the surface of the water as he gasps for breath. His chained hands thrash in the water to try and keep himself afloat. Deathstroke is far out of reach, the even strokes of his oars pushing the rowboat further and further from Tim. It feels like there’s miles and miles of ocean separating Tim from Jason’s ship, hundreds of waves and cresting sea foam tossing him away from the safety of the _Sheila Haywood_. Tim sucks in a single lungful of breath just before another wave breaks over his head to send him under once more.

_“Yeah, that’s it,” chided Kon as Tim broke the surface of the water as he flailed in the watering hole situated on the Kent’s farm. “One day, you’re going to thank me for teaching me how to swim.”_

And probably, without Connor’s help, Tim would have already drowned long ago on the fateful day he crossed paths with Captain Jason Todd. Still, the peaceful ripples of the Kent’s watering hole were a pale comparison to the merciless ocean waves, and Tim is caught in its clutches.

His saturated clothes make his futile attempts to swim against the waves harder. Kicking his waterlogged boots off is its own battle, but he manages –he lets them sink into the depths. In the far off distance, Tim catches a glimpse of a rowboat lowering down from the _Sheila Haywood_ before another wave crashes over him. He’s tossed unforgivingly in the ocean currents for several precious seconds before he gasps for air once more.

Disoriented, Tim twists around as best as he can to find his bearings. The miniature figure of Deathstroke has already reached his ship, scaling up the ladder rungs as his rowboat is hauled up. Gritting his teeth, Tim dog paddles forward, the manacles limiting his movements as yet another wave breaks over his head. He manages to not get dragged down once more by the relentless waves, but Tim realizes with a sinking dread that the ocean current is dragging him slowly but surely away from the Sheila Haywood. He fights against the current, but each wave cascading over his head drags him slightly off course despite his efforts.

Still, Jason’s rowboat is making progress towards him – as the minutes slowly pass by Tim can make out dim shapes of people in the boat, and while that bolsters his determination, his strength is quickly failing him, deadened from the cold water and his numbed limbs.

He spies someone moving to stand upright on the boat – to Tim’s shock, it’s _Jason_. Tim’s so caught off guard that another wave drags him under – it takes longer for him to resurface this time, and his manacled hands stretch towards the boat desperately before he’s sucked under again. Every breath dragged in feels like a miracle, his chest is burning from exertion. His movements have noticeably slowed. Then Jason dives in with a splash without any hesitation or regard for his own safety, and all Tim can think is that he has to get to him _now_.

Spurring on his efforts, Tim fights against the current as he forces his exhausted limbs to _move_. Jason’s form cuts easily through the water, his strokes solid and confident as they cut through the ocean waves towards him. At this point, it’s all Tim can do to stay afloat and keep his head above the water. It’s slow, and it’s painful –Tim’s lungs feel like they’re burning. Yet the sight of Jason fighting to get to him encourages Tim as he uses up the last vestiges of his strength to kick towards the pirate captain.

“Jason!” he calls, reaching out again. His voice barely carries over the open sea. “ _Jason_!”

Strong arms wrap around Tim and pull him in. An immeasurable amount of relief fills him as he lets himself sag against Jason’s bare chest, the waterlogged cotton of Tim’s shirt sticking between their bodies.

“It’s not over yet,” growls Jason, but there’s no aggression in his tone, just the heavy pants of exertion. Tim’s about to reply, then –

 _Boom_. A resonating cannon blast deafens Tim’s ears. Jason drags him under without warning, his grip more demanding and unrelenting than any other wave. Tim chokes, accidentally inhaling seawater.

He struggles against Jason’s grasp, precious air bubbles escaping his mouth as he fights towards the surface. Jason drags him into the depths, and Tim closes his eyes against the salty sting of seawater. His vision grows fuzzy. Jason’s lips seal over his, slotting over his mouth to breathe oxygen into Tim. His panicked struggling abates slightly. Twisting around behind Tim underwater, Jason wraps an arm about Tim’s middle as they resurface.

“Tim, I need you to kick.” pants Jason. “We’ll be out of his range soon –can you do it?”

“I –“ begins Tim, but then another earth-shattering boom forces Jason to drag Tim beneath the surface once more.  Jason is practically swimming on his side, forced to support Tim’s weight and tow him along. Twisting his head up to instinctively seek air, Tim sees the cannon ball break the surface where fragmented sunlight dances on the other side of the water. It sinks into the depths, and Tim weakly helps to propel their bodies back to the surface.

“I can’t –“ Tim gasps desperately the second he has enough breath to speak, desperate and exhausted and petrified.

“You can,” snaps Jason. His tone leaves no room for argument. He resumes his strokes once more in earnest.

It feels like hours as Jason helps him through the current. Every so often they’re forced to swim below the surface when there’s a frightful cannon blast, and every time Tim grips Jason’s arm for dear life as he weakly tries to assist Jason by kicking. When Tim struggles for air, bubbles escaping parted lips, Jason is there to support him, breathing life back into Tim and the perseverance to keep going. And then, when Tim really thinks he can’t go on further, Jason huffs loud and weary against his ear.

“We’re out of his firing range. How’re you holding up?”

Tim just shakes his head noiselessly, sinking against Jason and closing his eyes. Jason strikes him smartly across the cheek. Tim jerks his face up to glare at him wearily, no energy left to react to his stinging face.

“You are _not_ drowning on me here. _Kick_.”

And Tim does, even though every muscle and organ feels like it’s protesting against Jason’s order. Eventually, he feels arms lifting him up and out of the water, shivering against the ocean wind as concerned voices surround him. The boat rocks beneath him nauseatingly. His eyes flutter open in time to see Dick pulling a completely soaked Jason into the boat. Jason’s weight rocks the boat; it swings wildly to and fro before righting itself. Tim dry heaves.

“ _Tim_.” Kory’s voice floats over to him, worry easily discernable in her voice. “Are you –”

“ _No_.” He starts coughing.

“Shit,” Dick says. Someone manages to drag him into a position so that he empties the contents of his stomach over the side. When he’s done, Tim curls up into a wretched ball at the shallow bottom of the row boat.

“Easy,” breathes Kory, stroking the back of his head. Someone finally unlocks the cuffs about his wrists. His shirt is peeled off him, a dry blanket wrapped around his freezing body. “I need you to stay awake. Stay with us, Tim.”

“Deathstroke?” mumbles Tim groggily.

“He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

“S’not safe,” mumbles Tim. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the black spots dancing in his vision.

“ _Tim_. Tim, you can’t go to sleep. It’ll only a few minutes, and we’ll reach the ship. Stay awake for us, Tim, _please_.”

He doesn’t _quite_ fall asleep, but it’s a near thing as he drifts in and out. The voices prod Tim insistently, and he grudgingly responds to the banal questions they ask to keep him awake, closing his eyes against the too bright sunshine and shivering in the wind that prickles his wet skin and clothes uncomfortably.

He moans softly when someone stands up the in rowboat, the tiny boat rocking precariously. They try to move him but he resists, curling into a tiny ball at the bottom of the boat. They have to hoist the rowboat up with him still in it, and he groans at the precarious lurching of the boat in midair as it’s finally hoisted onto the _Sheila Haywood_.

“Tim? Tim!” Stephanie’s voice. “Oh my god, he looks terrible.” He’s dragged upright, his shoulders shaken. He finally opens his eyes to glare at Stephanie, but one look at her frightened expression melts the irritation from his exhausted body.

“I’ll take him.” Someone gently pulls him from Stephanie, hoisting him up easily like he weighs nothing. “Shit kid, I’m sorry you had to go through that. Someone get him fresh clothes, he’s freezing.”

“Roy,” mumbles Tim, and he curls into Roy’s chest to try and hide from the sunlight. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Roy’s voice is incredulous. “What for?”

“I really was a liability,” Tim whispers, miserable and wretched. He wishes the all noises and light would stop so he can sleep.

“No, kid. It’s our fault. Rest. You’re in good hands now.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s the growling hunger of his stomach that awakens him. Tim stirs, groaning softly. It takes time for his eyes to readjust to his surroundings. A single candle lights the semi-darkness of Jason’s cabin comfortably, though it’s not absolutely necessary. The broken door is propped against the entrance crookedly, the final rays of sunset seeping in through the jagged cracks of the door’s edges.

While he’s mostly dry, his hair’s still damp – Tim shivers briefly at the feel of an escaping breeze that glides through the broken doorway. Burying himself deeper into the covers, Tim inhales deeply– and realizes that once again, he’s curled up in Jason’s coat.

 _“Well you can’t have been on there for too long; you don’t have the mean look to you that seasoned seamen have, and you haven’t been marked as Todd’s as far as I can tell.”_ Deathstroke’s words echo back to haunt him; Tim shivers at the memory of the cruel orange-black mask and the one eye that gazed coolly back at him, goosebumps racing down his skin.

Maybe he’s naïve, but if Jason’s signature coat isn’t what Deathstroke meant by marking, then Tim doesn’t have the foggiest clue to whatever hidden meanings Deathstroke might have been hinting at.

The pirate lifestyle is still a complete and utter mystery to him.

Tim wants nothing more than to just not move his aching limbs and go back to sleep, but his stomach growls once more, reminding him that he’s parched and had heaved up the contents of his stomach just hours earlier. Muscles complaining, Tim gingerly rolls himself out of bed, treading gently to the door and –

“You’ve gone soft, Jason.” The breeze carries the words over to Tim, his hand frozen on the handle. Dick’s voice is stern, the tone of frustration evident in his hushed voice where they’re talking just outside the doorway.

“Funny, I don’t recall asking you for your opinion.” Jason’s voice is rough and deceptively calm.

“ _Jason_.” From the splintered cracks in the wood, Tim watches with bated breath as Dick leans in close towards Captain Todd’s face. “Maybe you should act your age a bit and learn to take criticism where it’s sorely needed.”

“Sorry for not filling out my big boy britches the way you wanted me to, Dickie,” drawls Jason antagonizingly. “But you know, this is my goddamn ship, and I’m not taking criticism from you of all people.”

“You put the crew in danger,” hisses Dick. “And all for Tim.”

“I had a handle on things.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” snaps Dick, “not even yourself. You should have stayed on the ship instead of rowing out.”

“Deathstroke –”

“Forget Deathstroke for a minute,” growls Dick. “I know how to handle him better than you. But because you insisted on coming on that rowboat, Deathstroke took the gamble in trying to shoot you down. Do you know what would have happened if anything had went wrong and you drowned with Tim?”

“I kept Roy back on the ship for that reason –”

“You should have sent Roy and me out instead of coming yourself! Don’t you see what I’m trying to get at?” Dick rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. “Roy’s a better swimmer than you, anyway. In risking yourself – you put us in danger too.”

“Shut up, Dick.”

“This is for your own good, Jason. You’re just being willfully ignorant,” hisses Dick, exasperated. “You chose to become a pirate captain – act like it.”

“Funny, _now_ you want me to act like the pirate that I am?” sneers Jason. “My, how the tables have turned, Goldie.”

“I need you to act like a goddamn _captain_. Roy and I – we’re going to have to run damage control, now because of your blasted inability to think before you act! Do you even realize now what everyone thinks now? Deathstroke, me, Roy, pretty much the entire crew –now think that the easiest way to getting under your skin is that kid. And _you_ won’t acknowledge that because you’ve got your head up your ass and pretty much everyone else hasn’t worked up the courage to say it to your face!”

“We’ve gone to so much fucking trouble keeping him alive, you think I’m going to let Tim slip through our fingers now just because of Deathstroke?”

Dick sighs in exhaustion. “You’re avoiding the subject. Jason, don’t you _see_?” He lowers his voice. “You’re in over your head. Tim’s a good kid. We all like him. But he’s not worth losing you.”

Jason scowls darkly. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Screw your head on right and get a grip. And think about –properly I mean – just what Tim means to you. If he’s loot – treat him like loot, not a bedmate. If he’s a prisoner, keep him in the brig the way we’ve always done it. If you want Tim as a cabin boy or something– make him one officially. Because after that stunt you pulled – people are talking. And when a captain’s authority gets undermined…well, we don’t need to worry about quelling a mutiny on top of everything else.” Dick claps a firm hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Now, you can go check up on him. Roy’s bandaged him up already.”

“Great, anything else I need to know?” asks Jason sarcastically.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you bringing food and water to loot.”

“Shut up.”

Tim tears himself away from the crevice in the cracked door, dashing silently back to the bed and throwing himself a top the mattress to curl up in Jason’s coat. His eyes squeeze shut just as the door’s awkwardly shoved to the side and Jason’s heavy footsteps lumber in.

“Tim?” Jason’s tone is soft and unobtrusive in counterpoint to Tim’s pounding heart. He stirs slightly, feigning grogginess.

“Jason?” he murmurs. He pretends to yawn.

“I brought food. How’re you feeling?”

“Everything hurts,” says Tim truthfully. His muscles are protesting just sitting up.

“Lemme check – _shit_ , your neck.”

“Huh?” Tim blinks up at the dim silhouette of Jason bracketed by the clean light of sunset filtering in from the doorway. Tim’s fingers reach up to gingerly touch his neck.

“No, let me.” Jason’s calloused fingers gently brush his fingers away. “Shit, that bastard,” he curses, and Tim realizes what Jason is talking about. Jason’s fingers trace the bruising skin of his neck, and now that Jason called attention to it Tim can feel the dull ache from where Deathstroke had squeezed the air from his throat.

“Don’t bother,” he mumbles, turning on his side and away from Jason. “S’not like you haven’t done the same before,” he can’t help but add.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” acknowledges Jason. Tim can’t hide a shiver when Jason’s fingers gently press down on the forming bruises, unable to conceal his vulnerability.

“Why does everyone try to strangle me on sight?” he grumbles, wrapping Jason’s coat tighter around him.

“Stephanie didn’t.”

“She hit me with a brick the first time,” mumbles Tim.

“Obviously you haven’t gotten over that particular humiliation if this is the second time you’re telling me this,” observes Jason wryly, and Tim can’t help a choked laugh escaping his lips. Jason’s fingers drift away from his neck.

“Can you eat anything?” he asks, and Tim nods as he remembers his hunger. Jason offers up a tray of food – mostly porridge and bread. Tim dives voraciously into it, his stomach complaining at him for neglecting it for so long.

“You’re quieter than usual,” observes Jason, and Tim manages a half shrug, avoiding his discerning gaze. He nibbles at the bread, fidgeting under Jason’s steady observations until he can’t bear it anymore.

“I thought…” he pauses to swallow the bread thickly. “I thought you wouldn’t come.” He stares down into his bowl of porridge.

Jason doesn’t respond. Tim doesn’t dare to look up, can’t even fathom what kind of face Captain Todd must be making right now. Silence ensues between them as Tim stares fixedly into his food.

“I didn’t think that Deathstroke would be enough to intimidate you.”

“Excuse me?” Tim looks up incredulously.

“Nothing. But…maybe I was too quick to assume that that you’d be fine, considering that you were dumb enough to charge point blank at Deathstroke, which, I may add, you should really _not_ do, ever. Seriously.”

“It…it wasn’t about being scared.”

“No?’ Jason’s eyebrows lift dubiously. “You’re moping.”

“No! I mean… it _was_ scary – terrifying, if I’m being honest.” Tim laughs shortly, eyes downcast once more. “But more than that…I guess I’m just angry at myself.” _About my own damn helplessness._

“Deathstroke’s not a man any normal person can go up against, physically or otherwise. He’s ex-military.” Jason gestures towards the broken door. “If it were just his brute strength that’s one thing, but he’s got the stamina, the experience, and the skills. I don’t think we’ll encounter him again, but you do ever see him again…just run.”

“On your ship?” Tim laughs bitterly. “Not exactly many places to run or hide.”

“It’ll probably raise your chances for survivability than you running at him,” snorts Jason. “Of all the stupid shit I’ve seen people do, you really surpass them all.”

“Flattering,” mumbles Tim. Finishing off his food, he curls up again as Jason takes the tray from his hands.

“Feeling better now?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Tim mumbles into the fabric of Jason’s coat. As soon as the words are out of his lips he wishes he could take them back.

“Are you complaining?”

“No… it‘s just…it’s nothing.” Tim sighs as he nestles into the pillow. An idea springs to mind. “I guess at times like these when I’m just well, moping…I’d play a lot of chess.”

“A game that sounds like it’s right up your alley, rich boy.”

“It’s not for rich people, it’s for anyone,” Tim protests.

“Do you really think people who have to work for their livelihood actually have time to play a gentleman’s game?”

“It helps me focus,” hedges Tim to avoid answering the question. He sighs for dramatic effect. “But you’re right, I suppose I wouldn’t find any worthy opponents on this ship.”

A certain mischievous glint enters Jason’s eyes, one that Tim would have missed in the dim lighting if he hadn’t been looking for it. “Hm, I suppose not.”

“I could teach you if we had a chess set,” sighs Tim. “It’s a very complicated game though, it would probably take a lot of time for you to understand everything.”

“You seem very fixated.”

“I’m tired of having to play poker every time I want something from you,” snorts Tim. “Think of it as having a handicap for once.”

“So what _do_ you want from me, Tim?” Jason’s voice drops lower.

“I –” Tim falters, caught off guard. “My belt and ring, for starters. And I guess…a distraction would be nice,” he adds on softly, letting his eyelids fall shut. “And answers.”

“Oh?”

“The reason I’ve got bruises around my neck is because I got dragged into your affairs,” points out Tim logically. “And since you’re a pirate and you refuse to tell me anything, I’m just going to have to pry it out of you.”

Jason chuckles, a soft genuine sound that throws Tim for a loop. It’s rough, it’s coarse and not at all refined – but it’s real, and more surprisingly, not meant to antagonize.

“I might actually have what you’re looking for love, though as for being a worthy opponent I guess we’ll have to see.” He stoops up, grabbing the candle to light instead a much larger lantern that casts a gentle glow about his quarters. “Now, where the hell did I put it?” He stoops in front of the chest, opening the lid with a loud creak and rummaging through it. Tim cheers internally as he pulls out the chess set. “There we go. A little beaten up, but no worse for wear I think.”

“That’s an awfully nice chess set for a pirate,” says Tim suspiciously. “Did you steal it off someone?”

“Maybe I murdered a man for it,” said Jason smugly. “It’d fetch a pretty penny, wouldn’t it?”

“Seems like an awful lot of work for a leisure game you don’t know the rules to. Especially for one missing a king.”

“But as you said, it’s an awfully nice set. And before you keep talking in that condescending tone, love, you can skip the tutorial; I’ve played it once or twice.”

“I’ll be sure to go easy on you then,” drawls Tim.

Jason stares at him suspiciously as he shakes out the contents of the set. Tim manages what he hopes is an innocent smile, but he notices that Jason carefully opens the lid so that the lettering Tim knows is etched on the inside isn’t visible. As they arrange the board, Jason messes up the position of the bishops and knights; Tim corrects him.

“We’re still wagering, by the way,” interrupts Tim casually, just as Jason’s about to make the first move, fingertips resting atop the crest of a white pawn. He’s chosen the center, a good choice for an opener.

Jason chuckles throatily. “We’ll make a gambler of you yet, love. What are the stakes?”

“For every piece I capture, you answer a question,” says Tim smoothly. “And for each piece you take…”

“I get a kiss?” Jason smirks at him.

“Yes.” Yet when Tim glances down to observe the chess board, he’s stopped by fingers gently catching hold of his chin. Jason’s thumb gently presses against the fullness of Tim’s lips; Tim freezes in place.

“You wouldn’t be counting the ones earlier when I was saving you, would you, love?”

Tim swallows thickly. “Is that a complaint?” he counters, pulling away from Jason’s touch.

“Maybe it is.” Jason’s gaze challenges him.

“Better learn how to deal with it then.”

“Do you even know how many times I had to give you air? I don’t think that’s a reasonable stipulation, love.”

 “Eight.”

“I don’t think I heard that right, Timmy.” Tim fights the blush emerging onto his cheeks as Jason surveys him with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Repeat that for me?”

“ _Eight_ ,” grinds out Tim through his teeth. “You gave me air eight times. Are you going to move your pawn or not?”

“I guess I’ll just have to capture more than eight of your pieces, then,” hums Jason.

For the life of him Tim can’t tell if Jason actually does know how to play. His opening is sound; he claims most of the center territory, but he plays recklessly with moves Tim finds difficult to decipher. He takes two pawns; Tim takes his knight as Jason moves his queen out into the battlefield.

“You’re just playing to capture pieces, aren’t you,” he accuses, and Jason roguishly winks at him.

“Nothing against the rules regarding that.” He snags another one of Tim’s pawns and loses two. Tim grits his teeth as he’s forced on the defensive as Jason’s queen ravages his setup. “Do I get more kisses for more important pieces?”

“Only if you’re willing to answer more questions.”

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” Jason smirks at him. “The mystery’s part of the swashbuckling charm, Timmy.”

“Would it kill you to call me Tim on at least a semi regular basis? I don’t think that’s asking for much.”

“Maybe if you win I’ll consider.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Well, that’s nice, but it’s check for you.”

“ _What_?” Tim scans the board incredulously. Jason chuckles as he tosses Tim’s newly captured queen into the air, snagging it in his hand to place a kiss atop its cross. Tim backpedals; he sacrifices his rook, Jason in hot pursuit of his king. He flushes when Jason steals his ninth piece; Jason’s blatant leer tells Tim that he _definitely_ noticed. Jason snags another piece as Tim evades a second check.

“So, Tim, any other tricks up your sleeve?” Jason smirks and twirls Tim’s queen idly. “You have less than half your pieces left.”

“Not particularly,” hums Tim, scanning the board. “But if I take your bishop…” He snatches up Jason’s chess piece, moving his into position. “That’s checkmate, isn’t it?”

“Fuck.” Jason jerks forward, squinting at the board as Tim leans back in triumph.

“No re-dos,” says Tim smugly, as Jason groans, carding his hand through his hair.

“You’re a real piece of work, kid.”

“It’s Tim.”

“I only said I’d consider,” retorts Jason. “Sorry, love.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Captain Todd.” Tim grins at him victoriously, too ecstatic at finally achieving an indisputable win to be disgruntled at Jason’s reluctance.

“Good to see that you’ve finally perked up, kid,” grumbles Jason, but he doesn’t seem too irritated, which Tim takes as a good sign.

“I get seven questions.”

Jason huffs, stretching as he starts packing up the chess set, making sure the inside faced away from Tim once more. “You sure do, kid. Fire away.”

“Hmm.” Tim sighs as he curls up in Jason’s coat, feeling like some of the stress and tension from the last few weeks had melted off his shoulders. “Where did you learn to play?”

“Chess is a good way to swindle rich gentlemen brats like you, kid.” Jason smirks at him. “Bored egalitarians with too much time on their hands used to be some of the best ways to earn good money.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Jason utters a short curse under his breath, scowling as Tim smirks at him proudly. “England,” he says shortly.

“What happened to the black king?” Tim asks curiously, picking up his piece to examine once again curiously. “Did you make this one?”

“Lost it, and no I didn’t. Three questions down, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” mutters Tim. “So…who was Rose?”

Jason’s eyes narrow slightly. “She used to be a crewmember of mine.”

“Well, I gathered _that_ much,” snorts Tim. “But what I meant was…just who was she to you? And that’s me rephrasing the question, not asking a new one.”

“We weren’t anything special, kid.” Jason Todd shrugs. “We had that spark together, we acted on it, and we parted ways. She wasn’t part of my crew for long.” He casts an amused look at Tim. “Jealous?”

“You wish,” says Tim scathingly. “What did Deathstroke want her for?”

“Dunno. Wish I knew the answer to that too. Next.”

Tim chews on his bottom lip. “Why…why did you come rescue me?” His fingers knot themselves into Jason’s coat. “You could have sent anyone. You didn’t even _have_ to send anyone. But you left your crew and came. So…why?” His voice trails off into a whisper.

Jason is utterly silent. Tim swallows, the silence unnerving. “Please,” he offers. “I want to know.”

Jason’s expression is strained, like he can barely formulate the words in his head. Then he speaks, and his next words stun Tim into speechlessness. “You’re important to me.”

Tim laughs, shocked and confused. “You’re…you’re teasing me again,” he manages. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you _truly_ think you’d be in my cabin right now if I weren’t serious?” Jason’s voice is deceptively calm. “Final question, love.”

There had been a thousand questions Tim wanted to ask, but now they disappeared, replaced by new ones all echoing in his mind screaming to be heard. Still, one single question that’s niggled at the back of his mind since Deathstroke had brought it up remains. Choking down the rest of the mysteries and his complete confusion, Tim finally brings it up.

“Earlier on, Deathstroke mentioned my….not being marked by you.” Tim glances up at Jason. “What did he mean?”

Jason sighs. “Fucking bastard,” he mutters. “The captain’s woman…well, normally has some sort of…ornament or symbol that signifies she’s his. Just you know, less trouble and all that.”

“And…I’m guessing that Rose had said ornament,” Tim says carefully, trying to probe for more answers.

“Actually, no.” Jason guffaws. “She threatened to hamstring me when I offered it. She can take care of herself; she doesn’t need that sort of protection.”

“You said she wasn’t anything special, but you offered it to her?” Tim squints at him suspiciously.

“It was more out of courtesy than anything else.”

“Right.” Tim snorts.

“See, I’m even being nice, answering an additional question. Are you happy?”

“I suppose so,” mutters Tim. “How nice, a pirate hopefully answering my questions honestly.”

“Knew you’d come around eventually.” Jason grins at him. “And now…I think you owe me some kisses, love.”

“But only two.”

“You’re a tough miser, love.” Jason sighs dramatically. Yet he leans in, only to be stopped by Tim’s hand pressing against his chest.

“W-wait.”

“What?” Jason glances at him, annoyed.

“I…it just doesn’t make sense.”

“If you’re just doing this to stall, Timmy, I –”

“You said that I’m…I’m important somehow. To you. But this…I don’t understand what you want from me.” Tim glances away. “How do I know you weren’t lying?”

“I daresay that a pirate on any given day is lying through their rotten teeth,” says Jason flippantly, but Tim’s glare quiets him.

“I just…want to know what all this means to you. Because you’re right. You _do_ treat me differently.” Tim doesn’t fight the blush rising to his cheeks anymore though he hides his eyes in his bangs. “You wouldn’t wager kisses against someone who…who…” he can’t finish his sentence.

“Whom I didn’t desire?” Jason’s fingers brush his cheek. “You’re right. But I’ve already declared my intentions once, love, and I don’t think you’re dense as you are willfully ignoring it.”

“You’re…offering me a choice.”

“Of a sort. But things can’t go on like they did before, Tim.” Jason kisses him on the corner of his lips before Tim can react. “My crew doesn’t like the fact you’re getting special treatment without rhyme or reason, I’m afraid.”

“So what are my options?” asks Tim hesitantly.

“You can stay a prisoner. Or loot.” Jason shrugs at him. “You’ll be kept in the brig. As loot, you’ll be chained inside all day. Or…you can become mine.”

The answer is easy enough. Stephanie had said they’d be reaching Hispaniola in a matter of days. If he’s locked up in the brig or in Jason’s cabin, most likely Jason will have the keys on his person. He _needs_ relative free reign of the ship, and there’s nothing better than choosing his fate of his own free will. Stephanie would be the most likely suspect in any escape attempts Tim might make, being caged would only further complicate matters.

He exhales deeply, letting his head drop forward to rest against the crook of Jason’s shoulder. He thinks he feels a hitch in Jason’s breath, but he tells himself he’s imagining it as he gathers his courage.

“I’m yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was struggling with this I'd reread all the reviews I had gotten from previous chapters, and honestly, your feedback give me so much inspiration to keep updating this story. So all reviews and kudos are seriously appreciated and loved <3


	14. Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, SO much for all the amazing reviews! I felt bad for leaving you guys hanging on that cliffhanger with Slade for 2+ months, so here’s another update <3 I’m super excited for the next stage, and judging from your comments I’m just sitting here going like ‘maaaan, just y’all wait and see what I’ve got planned because at as far as I can tell none of you are gonna be prepared lmao’ (and this is why your messages really help me figure out whether I’m conveying a story the way I want it to or not xD) Anyway, please enjoy!

“You’re becoming a menace and you know it.” Roy huffs and throws down his cards, shoving his coins towards the center of the table where they’re clustered. “That’s the third time in a _row,_ you cheeky brat.”

“Beginner’s luck?” says Tim coyly, cards fanned out as he hides his smile in them. Roy chucks a coin that bounces off Tim’s face.

“ _Ow_.” Tim rubs his stinging forehead. “What was that for?”

“You don’t get to act all innocent now, kid.” Roy tousles his hair. “We _all_ know Jay’s been giving you lessons.”

“More than one kind of lesson, probably,” mutters Harper behind her cards.

“I’m sorry,” says Tim sweetly. “But I don’t think I heard you over the sound of my four of a kind.”

“Piss off,” snorts Harper good-naturedly as Tim collects his winnings. She punches his arm companionably, but Tim’s arm smarts from the friendly blow.

“Let’s hope Captain Todd doesn’t teach him how to rig the dealer, or we’re all fucked.”

Kori smiles as she reshuffles the cards dexterously, Tim staring enviously at the ease with which she bridged the deck. “But I am glad that Tim is able to talk with us so easily now. Before you were…somewhat distant.”

“You can add aggressive to that too,” adds Roy, grinning wryly.

Tim reddens a little. “Sorry,” he mutters abashedly, glancing away. Roy blinks in surprise at his embarrassment before laughing raucously.

“I guess spending your alone time with Jay has been doing some good if you can make expressions like that, huh?” He grins meaningfully at Tim.

“I – we haven’t –” splutters Tim, and Harper punches him in the shoulders with a grin.

“It’s a bit late to be embarrassed kid, especially when you’re wearing his mark.” She flicks the singular earring dangling from Tim’s left ear, a miniature bronze-wrought broadsword with an ornate hilt.

“Don’t touch it,” huffs Tim, cupping a hand over his ear. Everyone snickers at him.

“I trust Jason was…gentle, with you, yes?” Kori asks, cocking her head her head him. “He was reluctant to give us details.”

Tim chokes on air. “E-excuse me?” he asks, gasping for breath.

“C’mon guys, don’t tease the rich kid so much, he looks like he might die from embarrassment,” laughs Roy cheerfully as Kori deals. He lounges back as he rearranges his cards.

“That’s true, this is the first time he’s refused to tell us anything,” snorts Roy. “That ass.”

Kori smiles at Tim winningly as she flicks his cards towards him. “He’s good in bed, isn’t he?” she asks nonchalantly, as if she were talking about the weather. “There’s no shame in admitting that.”

“Oh my god.” Tim cringes and hides his burning face behind his cards. Harper snickers at him audibly, not even trying to conceal her mirth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

_“It’ll hurt.” Jason scrutinizes Tim’s expression for a betrayal of his thoughts._

_“I don’t doubt that,” mutters Tim, watching the flickering candle flame heat the needle. He draws his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees to himself where he’s perched on the edge of Jason’s bed._

_“Do you know what it means to be mine?” murmurs Jason lowly, withdrawing the needle from the flame. “Because I don’t think you have the slightest idea.”_

_“Are you saying I get to reconsider?” asks Tim, raising his eyebrows. “Because if I do –”_

_“There’s no take backs once you walk out that door with this, Tim,” replies Jason. He drops the earring into Tim’s open palm. Tim examines it; even without a trained craftsman’s eye he can admire the handiwork. Etched faintly into the center of the guard he can just barely make out_ JPT _in the dancing candlelight clearing away the shadows. He looks back up; Jason’s eyes are dark and maybe for the first time, earnest._

_“You’d better clean that because I’m pretty sure your ears are goddamn filthy.”_

_“Your choice, princess,” Jason peers at the needle tip. It gleams brightly for a moment, golden in the lamplight. “I think it’s cooled. Ready?”_

_Tim exhales. “As much as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”_

_Yet as soon as the tip touches the flesh of his earlobe, Tim panics. He grips Jason’s wrist, stilling him. “Wait,” he pleads. He glances up anxiously at Jason. His eyes blink curiously as they regard Tim. “I’m not…I – I’m just…_ me _.”_

_For a second, Tim wonders if he needs to clarify. Yet Jason’s head dips lower, breath ghosting across the shell of his ear before he can even formulate the words._

_“No one knows that better than me.”_

_The needle presses harder, breaking skin. Tim’s eyes scrunch shut and his fingers dig hard into the bedcovers, resisting the urge to flinch away. The pain intensifies, then recedes as the needle passes through his lobe cleanly. He steadies his breath, trying to focus beyond the pain._

_The earring is inserted in; Tim winces at the residual sting and the new, unfamiliar weight of Jason’s mark as Captain Todd carefully wipes away the blood and evaluates his handiwork._

_“It doesn’t look half bad,” he says, smiling crookedly. “Looks better than I thought it would.”_

_“It feels…weird.” Tim grimaces, tilting his head experimentally. The tip of the sword taps against his skin, heavy and prominent. “Like now one side of my head is too heavy.”_

_“We could always give you a second one,” smirks Jason, and Tim makes another face._

_“I think I’ll pass.”_

_“Shame.” Jason’s hand presses firmly against Tim’s chest as if to push him down; Tim predicts it. He grips Jason’s wrist and jerks it towards him, offsetting Jason’s balance as he rolls to the side to avoid being caught under Jason’s bulk. Jason’s body twists as he falls forward, landing on his side. As Jason rolls onto his back, a warning glint in his eye, Tim makes his move, landing with a hard thump atop Jason’s stomach as he straddles him._

_Jason’s mouth is partially open in surprise; the fleeting expression disappears as quickly as it comes, replaced by a leer._

_“I didn’t think you’d be so eager, love.”_

_“Hold up.” Tim has to act fast; if he takes too long Jason will simply push him off, but for now Jason’s entertaining him, his curiosity piqued. “I think you got something wrong,_ love _,” Tim says, gratified when he doesn’t stammer._

_“Oh?” Jason’s eyebrows shoot up, nearly disappearing into his fringe._

_“I said I’d be yours.”_

_“I heard you.”_

_“I didn’t say I’d be your woman.”_

_The edge of a sly gleam flash through Jason’s gaze. “Is this the game you’re playing now, love?” he asks slowly, and Tim jerks in surprise as Jason’s free hands graze against the outside of his thighs. “I’d tread carefully if I were you.”_

_Irritated at his moment of weakness, Tim schools his expression, cocking his head and gazing down at where Jason is sprawled under him, easily accommodating his weight. “I have an offer I think you’d be interested in.”_

_“Normally we call them propositions ‘round here.”_

_Tim chooses to ignore the comment, leaning forward until his body nearly draped across Jason’s torso, leaning so that he can whisper in Jason’s ear. “Twenty-five consecutive wins against me in chess, and I’ll be your woman.”_

_Jason stills completely under him. “Fifteen.”_

_Tim sits back up as if to draw himself to his full height, gazing down at Jason scornfully. “You underestimate my worth, pirate.”_

_“And you think you’re in any position to make that sort of offer?” retorts Jason, but there’s no sneer in his tone, just a subtle interest that Tim detects._

_“I’ve accepted your wagers when I was disadvantaged,” says Tim loftily. “Are you too cowardly to do the same?”_

_Jason’s calloused fingers squeeze Tim’s thighs hard; he ignores the brief instance of pain._

_“And what makes you think you have any right to make those sort of demands?” murmurs Jason. “To be mine is to_ be _my woman.”_

_“The crew is yours, and so is the ship. So are your belongings. By that logic, I don’t have to be your woman to be yours.”_

_“So then, what are you, Timothy Drake?” whispers Jason. “What will you be to me?”_

_“Myself. And nothing else.” Tim bites down on the inside of his cheek._

_Jason considers him, eyes dark and gaze incomprehensible._

_“And what will stop me from taking what’s mine as I please?” he says softly, his fingers skimming up to Tim’s waist in a subtle warning._

_“The same thing that’s been stopping you all this while,” responds Tim. His pulse races, blood thrumming in his veins. “There’s been nothing stopping you since day one except yourself.” He takes a breath, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels as he faces down Jason Todd in the biggest bluff he’s made yet. “So, what will it be, Captain?” He prays his gamble will pay off._

_Jason’s eyes gleam starkly in the candlelight, his hands now resting gently against Tim’s sides, a deceptively gentle presence. Never before, despite Jason’s relaxed form beneath him, has Tim ever felt so at Jason’s mercy. After what feels like an eternity has passed, Jason shifts beneath him and speaks, his voice so low Tim nearly misses what he says next._

_“You should know better than to challenge bad men, love.” Jason’s hand rises to cup Tim’s cheek; Tim waits with bated breath, nerves thrumming in anticipation. “My offer is twenty, take it or leave it.”_

_A sigh escapes Tim’s lips as his rigid muscles relax; unbelievably, he’s won his bet._

_“It’s a deal,” he says simply, moving to slide off. Then it’s Jason’s turn to reel him in; Tim gasps as he sprawls across Jason’s chest, jerking his head up until he realizes that his face is inches away from Jason’s._

_“I think you’ve forgot something, love.”_

_Anxiety twists Tim’s stomach into knots. “What?” he asks, heart pounding against his ribcage._

_“You still owe me one more kiss.” And Jason’s lips press hard against his._

_It’s a long while before he’s permitted to breathe again._

~*~*~*~*~

“Land ahoy!” Everyone’s heads jerk up at Dick’s faint voice, the card game forgotten. The call repeats again, the shout taken up by other crewmembers until it reverberates through the ship, excitement infectious in the chant. " _Land ahoy_! _Land ahoy!"_

Harper is the first one to act. “What are you bastards waiting for? Let’s go!” she laughs joyfully, excited. She tosses her cards to the floor and races up towards the deck. Kori follows immediately after, but when Tim stands up, Roy’s hand curls about his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m supposed to get you to Jay’s quarters,” he says simply. Tim looks at him pleadingly, unable to voice what he really wants to say, but despite Roy’s sympathetic glances, the pirate stands firm. Roy guides him to the deck. Around them, pirates are rushing out towards the sides, and sure enough, faintly in the distance, Tim can see the shimmer of green and brown in the gleaming horizon where the ocean tides meet. Despite himself, he stops in his tracks, gazing yearningly towards what he thinks are sandy cliffs.

“Is that Hispaniola?” he asks, and Roy shifts behind him uncertainly.

“Yeah, Tim. C’mon, let’s go.”

“Will I…ever get to walk on land again?” he asks quietly. Roy heaves a sigh, and his hands descend upon Tim’s shoulders, steering him in the direction of Jason’s cabin.

“I don’t know,” is Roy’s honest reply. Tim bitterly tears his eyes away from the sight upon the horizon, letting himself be pulled away.

“Tim?” Stephanie rounds the corner, nearly dashing into him. “Where the hell have you been – Captain Todd wouldn’t let me see you after he saved you –”

“Been kind of…preoccupied,” manages Tim with a shrug. Roy is watching their exchange keenly, but hasn’t intervened yet. Stephanie’s eyes narrow, and Tim knows intuitively that her eyes are fixed on the broadsword earring resting heavily on his earlobe.

“I don’t believe it,” says Stephanie quietly. Tim swallows, wondering if he’s seriously miscalculated. The wind gusts strongly, the excited voices of the crew carrying over to them.

“Steph –”

“I don’t want to hear it,” snaps Stephanie. “Of all the unbelievable – you absolute _idiot_. You actually became his _woman_?” Her furious expression conveys what Tim thinks he can only interpret as disgust and disappointment. Any possible excuses Tim could have made dry up in his mouth, rooted to the spot in shock as he is.

“I…” Stephanie glances away, her golden hair shadowing her eyes in the early afternoon sun. “I thought that maybe…I still _meant_ something to you.”

“Stephanie…” Tim swallows. She makes as if to stride away; he reaches out but she slaps his hand away.

“Don’t talk to me.” She disappears as quickly as she had come, a mercurial tempest come and gone and leaving Tim still winded by what had just transpired.

“Did I really deserve that?” he wonders aloud, and Roy’s hand squeezes his shoulder in a gesture that’s probably meant to be consoling.

“Women are mysterious creatures,” Roy says wisely. “I guess she didn’t realize she still thought of you as her paramour? And by the looks of it…neither did you.”

Tim nods his head wordlessly; Roy gently prods him to move. Once he’s escorted back into Jason’s makeshift prison for him, the door closes shut. Roy has managed to fix it, but Tim personally thinks a strong enough wind would break it once more. Still, once more he’s a prisoner in Jason’s quarters, no matter how much nicer it is than the brig. He’s seen no sign of Jason; presumably he’s busy preparing for landing.

Huffing, Tim lifts up the mattress where he’s hidden Jason’s logbook. It’s still in place. Tim supposes Jason wouldn’t have had time to have written in it, given how much Tim had been purposefully distracting him every time they’d been in the cabin together.

If nothing else, hopefully it’d give him valuable insight regarding how Jason ran a tight ship. Tim opens to a page at random as he makes himself comfortable on the bed; his jaw drops.

For all the impressions Tim had of Jason, a man with some educational talent was not one of them. While his penmanship was a messy scrawl that was borderline indecipherable…

“What the hell?” mutters Tim incredulously, “he writes in _Spanish_?” He flips to another page. “And in _French_?” He squints at the spidery scrawl dotting the page, mostly comprising of just quick notes jotting down the routine, usually not in complete sentences. A lot of the French is misspelled; Tim can only pick out bits and pieces.

“Pillée…peu d'aprovisiomnt...approvisionnement? Pillage? No provisions?” mutters Tim, fingers tracing the letters as he struggles to read the illegible text. “Goddammit.” He flips to another page. He swallows thickly when his eyes stray to one word. _Tim_. It’s dated to earlier this month.

“Gané…su cinturón. Está mocoso loco.” Tim scowls in annoyance as he pieces together the meaning. “Rude, that’s what he is,” he mutters to himself.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Tim yelps, nearly jumping out of his skin as Jason towers over him.

“It’s not what you think,” he says immediately, then flushes in embarrassment at being caught.

“Of course not,” says Jason wryly, taking the logbook away and glancing through it. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that my things got rearranged?”

“It was worth a risk,” says Tim casually, edging away, but Jason cages him in his arms. Tim stiffens, frozen in place.

“Was it now?” Jason smirks at him. “I think I’ve been letting you get away with a little too much now, haven’t I?”

“I’m sorry,” manages Tim, trying to subtly shift away from Jason’s reach, but Jason grabs his wrists and pins them before he gets very far.

“Somehow, you’re not making a very believable case for yourself,” drawls Jason. Tim protests, cringing when Jason pulls out a pair of handcuffs. “Think it’s time to set some limits, kid.”

Tim struggles, kicking out as he flails, but Jason easily dodges as he locks the cuffs around his wrists, looping the length of chain around the frame.

“You can’t do this!” snaps Tim. He tugs at the chains uselessly.

“Keep telling yourself that, Timmy,” says Jason, surveying his handiwork. “You know,” he hums conversationally, a warning edge belying his false cheer, “the usual punishment would be a whipping, at the very least. You’re getting off lightly, love. So…don’t test me.”

“Or what?” retorts Tim challengingly, and Jason quirks an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you’d like it when I’m mad, darling,” breathes Jason, and Tim bites back a growl at the obnoxious endearment. “I’ve told you to stop challenging bad men, haven’t I? One day, it won’t end so well for you.” He pats Tim’s head condescendingly. “Now, stay put, won’t you, love?”

“You can’t hold me here forever!” barks Tim, and Jason laughs at him.

“We’ll see about that, unless you learn to pick a lock.” He exits, the door swinging shut with a final click, and Tim curses and kicks the mattress in frustration.

~*~*~*~*~

“I can’t believe it,” complains Harper as she dumps a particularly unsavory-looking dinner in front of Tim, his hands unshackled for the time being. “I have to look after _you_ while everyone gets to have proper booze on land? This is _unfair_.”

“Says the one who’s not a prisoner on this ship,” says Tim sullenly, accepting the tray as he sits up properly on the bed.

“You’re still hung up on _that_?” Harper snorts dismissively. “You’re not a prisoner, you’re his woman. Which means more trouble for all of us since now we have to make sure you’re not up to any trouble while he’s not around.”

“Usually it’s trouble finding me,” mumbles Tim sullenly as he tries to figure out how to eat the bread without breaking his teeth on it.

“Cute. Also, don’t even think about trying to escape, because I’ve punched down men three times your size.”

“What if I just really need to use the latrines?” Tim retorts, and Harper rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

“Now I’m _really_ beginning to see why the captain’s always talking about your smart tongue.”

“When will they be back?” asks Tim, and Harper scoffs.

“Sorry kid, but I’ve been told to keep a tight lip where you’re concerned.”

“You can’t keep me handcuffed to the bed for _days_ ,” protests Tim.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Harper’s voice is studiously nonchalant. “Guess that’ll be up to the captain once he gets back.” Tim finishes his tray, reluctantly letting himself be shackled once again. “Get some rest, if you need anything just holler; I’ll be just outside.”

“This is awful.”

“So was losing to you three times in a row, rich brat. This is your comeuppance,” retorts Harper cheerfully. “And I got the short end of the stick in this too, so quit complaining.”

“I’m just stating facts.” Harper just mutters something under her breath and walks out, taking the tray with her. Tim notices that she locks the door behind her, and exhales tiredly.

He’s beginning to think there’s no way he’ll get to Bayaha. Now that the cabin’s quiet, he can hear the faint noises of people outside, voices carrying over the ocean breeze and the creak of the ship gently rocking with the tides. He doesn’t think they’ve docked at a port, but it’s definitely near people. Stephanie had said that Tortuga was a pirate haven; Tim doesn’t want to risk his bets with trying to scream for help even assuming his voice could be heard beyond the ship. He’s not even certain if they’re _at_ Tortuga; Jason’s been incredibly thorough in limiting Tim’s access to information.

An hour passes, then two. Tim counts the number of planks in the ceiling multiple times, and then the number of wallboards. Eventually he finally drifts off into a light slumber, until –

 _Bump_.

Tim blinks awake at the odd noise. The floorboards rattle slightly in the wind, creaking with the gentle sound of water lapping at the hull.

“Harper?” he calls uncertainly, softly. The soft pattering of feet skitters just outside the door. It doesn’t sound like rats.

_Bump._

“Harper?” he calls again, a bit louder. “Is that you?” He wets his lips, slightly unnerved by the lack of response.

 _Bump!_ Something hits the cabin door with a solid thud.

“Oi!” Harper’s muffled voice sounds just outside the door. “Who are you – hk!”

Another solid hit. Tim tugs frantically at his chains. Silence reigns once more.

“Harper?” he calls louder. “Is everything all right?”

The silence echoes louder than the waves.

“ _Harper_.” Tim gnaws his bottom lip. “I’m serious, what’s going on?”

Rustling. Tim tugs once more at his chains, ill-seated anxiety fraying his nerves. There’s the sound of metal, one that Tim can immediately identify as the key being inserted into the lock.

The lock turns. Then achingly, painfully slowly, the door creaks open.

There’s a hooded figure in the door frame. Tim presses himself up against the bedframe, heart practically in his mouth with fear as the door swings open wide enough to reveal Harper’s slumped figure, the stranger’s hand holding Harper by the neck of her shirt.

“What have you done,” Tim says, stricken. He means to shout it but it comes out as a dry rasp. “She’s not dead…is she?”

The figure doesn’t respond, instead choosing to step into the room, dragging Harper’s prone body in as well and shutting the door silently. The stranger drops Harper onto the floor; Tim is relieved to see Harper still breathing without any visible injuries.

“Who are you,” he demands, trying to make himself as small as possible, backed into the corner as he is. “I’ll scream if you don’t –”

“Shh.” The stranger sweeps back their hood. “It’s me.”

It takes Tim several moments to respond.

“C…Cass?” he breathes in confusion. He sags back against the wall, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Cass regards him silently, her expression betraying little. “What are you doing here?”

She steps forward. Tim’s stomach wraps itself into knots as he tenses up, but her outstretched hand opens, revealing the key to his handcuffs.

“Stephanie sent me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo! We FINALLY got here! (We were supposed to get here like...4 chapters ago oops)
> 
> As always, your comments and kudos inspire me, and I really appreciate all of you who have stayed with this story since the beginning and those of you who have just started! :D I love hearing what you guys think what's gonna happen, i love hearing what you guys want more of, i love pretty much just hearing from you guys, haha. Especially if it's good critique which is hard to find <3


	15. Moonlit Tortuga Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I've been ridiculously busy, sorry about that. Anyway, this chapter was supposed to be longer, but honestly there was so much stuff I wanted to get to I couldn't fit it all in, that's literally how juicy this chapter is lol. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, to the person (people?) who recced my fic on twitter - thank you SO SO much! Sending much love your way as well <3

“Stephanie sent me.” The words stun Tim into silence, giving Cassandra the opportunity to step forward and unlock his cuffs.

“But…why?” asks Tim blankly, incredibly confused. “She’s mad at me, and you haven’t even known her for that long –”

“Sh. No time. Explain on the way,” she says, pulling Tim up. Her firm grip speaks volumes about the compact strength folded into her small frame. Once Tim is standing upright and massaging his sore wrists, Cass hauls the unconscious Harper up and drops her unceremoniously onto the mattress. Working efficiently, she shackles Harper into the same position that Tim had been in.  Her hands nimbly shove the folds of her cloak back, loosening a handkerchief tied about her bicep to retie it around Harper’s mouth as a makeshift gag.

“Patrol in five. Must hurry.”

“How long have you two been planning this?” he asks breathlessly, his heart thumping rapidly. She doesn’t respond as she presses her ear to the door, listening intently. Satisfied with the lack of voices or footsteps, she creaks the door open before gesturing for Tim to follow her, slipping out as silently as a ghost onto the open deck.

The salt breeze and the tantalizing taste of freedom call. Tim follows the curl of Cassandra’s cloak as she pads silently over the floorboards with her back pressed against the wall of the cabin. The eaves of Jason’s quarters provide a natural blind spot so that anyone stationed in the crow’s nest is unlikely to spot them. They make their way towards the edge of the ship, both wary and on the lookout for any members of the skeleton crew that Jason had stationed.

“Do we need to steal a boat?” queries Tim, his nerves setting him on edge. Cass’s head shakes in the negative.

“Shallow water.” She darts out quick as lightning to dive behind barrels that have been lashed to the rails. She glances up, obviously gauging if she’s been spotted by the sentry in the crow’s nest, but no alarms are raised. Tim waits until she waves him over before he follows her as well.

“So where is Stephanie?” whispers Tim as they crouch between the ship railings and the barrels.

“With captain. Making sure he upholds bargain about children.”

“The slaves, you mean?” he murmurs.

“No longer slaves. Free people.”

Tim wants to say more on the subject but Cass has already turned, darting towards the sides where the ladder is situated. Before the wind has even finished carding through Tim’s hair, she’s vaulting over the sides, her cloak billowing out behind her as she disappears from view. He tenses at the creak and strain of the wood as her feet knock into the rungs before she finds her footing; the ship settles with a subdued creak as it bobs with the gentle ocean waves.

The wind picks up. By his internal count, if Cass’s estimate had been accurate, he has approximately thirty seconds before the next sentry will round the corner. The ladder just paces away on the other side of the ship suddenly seems out of reach. His feet turn to lead, fear suddenly overwhelming him without warning. Though he’s come too far to stop now, the heavy weight of what-ifs and the dread of reprisal tether him in place.

Cass’s head reappears into view from where she’s still perched on the ladder. Her gaze makes Tim feel too exposed, too vulnerable. Where Captain Todd’s gaze is shrewd and artful, hers is straightforward in its frank simplicity.

“Come. Be free.” She ducks out of sight. Tim takes a breath and wills himself to move. He hears the dull tread of solid footsteps approaching as someone nears their position. While the barrels provide some concealment, they aren’t large enough to shield Tim fully from view.

“Why the hell am I hesitating?” he hisses at himself, irritated. His eyes squeeze shut. His pulse pounds heavy and loud in his ear; he throws caution to the wind and _runs_.

He doesn’t manage to vault over the railing –he clumsily lumbers over the sides instead, oafish in comparison to Cass’s efficient and graceful movements. The unknown footsteps plod closer as he dips out of sight; Cass and Tim wait with baited breath as they cling to the ladder, Tim praying that whoever it is doesn’t intend to scale down or peek over the sides.

The footsteps stop only a few paces away. Tim struggles to measure his breaths to alleviate his panic. The wind is gusty though not overly strong and he hopes desperately that he doesn’t sneeze, goosebumps raising along his skin. It’s a warm but dry night, and Tim wants to scream in frustration at how badly he can taste _freedom_.

The footsteps still haven’t moved on. Tim frantically tries to recall if Cass and Tim had inadvertently left some sort of indication that Tim has escaped. Still, no red flags have been raised, no indication that anyone’s found the unconscious Harper yet or noticed her missing.

The scent of tobacco smoke wafts to his nose. Tim grips the ladder rungs until his knuckles turn white. All this while, Cass remains perfectly silent where she’s perched beneath him, unmoving. Their backs are facing the land; if any of the land party returns, he and Cass are blatantly visible and exposed from the shore. If the worst possible scenario does occur, their only hope is if returning crewmembers can’t make his face out underneath the guise of darkness.

It’s an eternity as the pirate above them continues smoking. Tim wants to cough at the smell; the breeze blows the cloying scent towards Tim’s face. He buries his face into the crook of his elbow to stifle the worst of it. Cass remains eerily silent, but her steady presence serves to calm Tim’s rapidly fraying nerves.

At last, the pirate sighs in satisfaction; the heavy footsteps clomp away. Tim breathes his own sigh of relief. He glances back down; Cass remains still, unmoving for another minute before she finally drops down, skipping the remaining ladder rungs and onto dry shore, allowing Tim to climb the rest of the way down.

He stumbles once the soles of his boots hit the wet rocks; Cass catches him easily like she had predicted it.

“Lost land legs,” she says softly. Tim detects the faint hints of a smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards. “Careful. Did well.”

“I…I can’t believe it,” he breathes shakily, his heart pounding. The ground doesn’t rock beneath him; his legs wobble before he manages to stand properly again, whether from adrenaline or from being too long out at sea he doesn’t know. He turns carefully; the rocks are wet and slippery; the ocean is already quickly soaking through the leather of his boots. The darkened silhouettes of unfamiliar and exotic trees wave beckoningly.

“I’m on land,” he says incredulously, more to himself than anything else. Before he can continue to revel in his freedom or do something like kiss the very earth they’re standing on, Cass tugs his arm.

“Still danger. Come.” She leads him as they jump from rock to rock. Her grip is strong and reliable; whenever he stumbles, she’s there to catch him, to lead him to the next dry patch and then the next. Before Tim knows it, they’re standing on damp, smooth sand, footprints visible before the waves conceal them to lapping teasingly at their ankles.

“Follow,” Cass says, and willingly Tim trusts her. The pirates had chosen to anchor in a shallow inlet with some rocky outcroppings, easy to lurk just out of sight from potential enemies, and Cass uses the geography to her advantage. It’s mostly cloudless night and the moon casts shadows over the sand as Cass blends into the rocks and darts towards the shadows of the palm trees with Tim right behind her. He notices that she keeps away from the sand where possible to minimize her footprints, and where she does tread, the waves cover her route. At long last, they reach the trees and Cass tugs Tim into the shadowy fronds.

“Thank you,” breathes Tim, when his heart has calmed down enough for him to finally speak again. “I am indebted to you.”

“Not over. Captain will hunt. Must leave Tortuga.”

“But how?” Tim groans and rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. “We have no boat, and no –” He’s abruptly interrupted as Cass tosses him a coin purse which he snags in midair. It smacks the center of his palm with a hefty weight to it, jangling merrily with the sound of metal against metal.

“Thirty silvers. Need about twenty for passage.”

“You’re…giving me this?” Tim gapes at her in astonishment. “Just where did you get all this money? It must have taken you at least –”

“Harper. Stole with key.”

“Oh.” Tim recovers as gracefully as possible. “Why would you risk yourself like this, though, to betray Jason –” Realization finally strikes Tim like a bolt of lightning; he’s an idiot.

“You were never part of Jason’s crew, were you? You were always on Stephanie’s side.” Cass’s nod affirms this.

“But then...how did no one else notice you? They said it was just Stephanie and the sla – children.”

“Stephanie decoy for me. Snuck on. Stowed away in hold. Kept eye on children.” By the tone of her voice, Cass sounds pleased and a little proud of herself.

“You’re joking.”

“No.” Cass’s mouth briefly twitches upwards in amusement, but her demeanor sobers quickly as she surveys Tim critically.

“What? Do I look weird or something?” Tim scrubs his chin, grimacing at the bristly scratch of stubble against his fingers.

“Stand out too much.” She produces another cloak from a bag that Tim hadn’t realized she was carrying, handing it to him. “Put it on. Hide face. And take.” She offers him her rapier, unbuckling it from her waist

“But…what about you?” asks Tim hesitantly, as he shakes out the cloak to wrap it around himself. The temperature is a touch too warm to be wearing such garments in such a tropical climate, but Tim is sensible enough to realize that if he encounters any of the pirates on the island, he needs all the concealment he can afford.

“Don’t need,” she shrugs easily. “Keep it visible. Or people think easy target.”

“Won’t you need it more than me, then? Um, not that I think you _are_ an easy target, but…”

Cass pats his shoulder in a way that makes Tim think that she’s pitying him, before moving onwards.

“Ermm, right.” Tim sighs as he buckles the rapier about his waist. “Hold up!” he calls, as he chases after her retreating back.

“Hide earring. Too conspicuous,” she says, like he hadn’t said anything. Tim swallows; he’d already forgotten about the heavy significance of Jason’s mark weighing down his earlobe. His fingers fumble at the clip, gingerly unhooking the earring and wincing. The wound still hasn’t healed fully, and Tim carefully slips the piercing off. With the earring now resting in the dip of his palm, Tim unexpectedly found himself at a crossroads as what to do with it.

“I…Should I get rid of it?” He calls, half-hoping that Cass would assertively take the decision from his hands with a logically sound argument. Cass doesn’t look back as she guides him stealthily under the umbrage of the palm fronds to make their way further inland. With a sigh, Tim opens the flap of his trousers pocket, dropping the earring inside.

Just in case.

“Envy him.” Cass says suddenly, speaking up for the first time in minutes. They pass a signpost, sand and moist soil gradually transitioning into a well-walked dirt trail, and then into a beaten road.

“What, _Jason_?” Tim laughs harshly, but his traitorous pulse disregards his words. “Hardly.”

“His freedom. His confidence. Envy that. Maybe _admire_.”

“I think admiration is a bit far,” huffs Tim, but he doesn’t bother trying to correct her; Cass seems like she had him figured out from the start anyway. “He’s an arrogant bastard, and _that_ is an understatement.” Tim sighs. “I don’t know where he got all that confidence from, but.” He falls silent, trying to collect his thoughts as he follows after Cass. They pass by fields and cottages as the path picks up into an incline. In the distance the smoke of city lanterns and campfires beckon.

“But?” prods Cass gently, for once indicating that she _is_ listening, and Tim groans, carding his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“That he can disregard authority while having the skills to stand on his own and back up what he says,” mutters Tim petulantly, “ _that_ I might admire. It’s still going to bite him in the ass soon, though,” he follows up immediately after.

“Hm.” Cass’ pace slows slightly, allowing Tim to catch up to her. She holds a hand in front of him, blocking his path. “Wait.” Further up the road there’s a small footbridge crossing a large ditch, and Tim can see two figures clustered about it, illuminated by the light of a small lantern and the moon.

“What is it?” murmurs Tim, and Cass shrugs.

“Do not know.”

“Have you been to Tortuga before?”

“Once.” She steps forward, and Tim can only follow in her wake. When they’ve approached further so that the faces of the men at the mouth of the footbridge are distinguishable, the men stand up. They aren’t wearing the uniforms of possible guards or soldiers - their clothes are tattered, perhaps more so than Tim’s, and when the stocky one smirks at them, even in the dark his teeth are mostly blackened or gone.

“Toll,” the burly one says, folding his arms about his chest.  Compared to him, Cass barely reaches his chest, and Tim doesn’t fare much better. “Eight pieces of silver.”

“No money,” Cass says plainly. Tim winces.

“Tough luck then,” snorts the shorter, stockier one, and Tim fumes when the man blatantly leers at Cass. “You’ll have to go around then, it’ll take two hours by foot. You wouldn’t wanna be traveling long in the dark, my friends, there’re a lot of ruffians in the area.”

“Look,” placates Tim. “We’ve been traveling for a long time, and my companion here needs rest and food. Couldn’t you just let us pass, gentlemen?”

“Gentlemen, eh?” The burly one dissolves into crude laughter. “Are you tryin’ ta take the piss outta us, boy?”

Cass nudges Tim discreetly with her elbow. “Go forward.”

“What?” mutters Tim. “I’m not leaving you here to deal with them.” His hand falls discreetly to the rapier Cass gave him.

“Trust.”

Tim hesitates as the stocky one swaggers forward, thrusting his face into theirs aggravatingly to sneer, “Well I mean, we might be obliged to do so if your pretty little companion could – hngh!” Tim startles, pausing in his tracks in surprise when Cass steps forward, using her forearm to casually sweep him to the side of the road like the man weighed nothing.

“No thank you,” Cass says calmly, and the two men stare at them nonplussed, clearly too shocked to react.

“Well, you heard her,” Tim begins smoothly, recovering from his surprise faster than the soldiers. He offers Cass his upturned palm; she links her arm in his, a small smile quirking her lips. “We’ll be on our way, gentlemen.” Just as Tim gets one foot on the makeshift plank bridge, the stocky one snarls at him, launching forward.

“You bitc –” Cass sidesteps him neatly. Tim opens his mouth to warn her, but the words never leave his throat as Cass’s foot trips the man, sending him sprawling into the ditch.

“Your companion. Go help him,” says Cass meaningfully to the second man. She jerks her head towards the ditch to emphasize her point.

“You don’t tell me what to do –” starts the man, but Tim speaks up.

“Do you _really_ want to do this, right now?” he asks pointedly. “Surely you should help your friend first.”

The man glares belligerently at them. The wind picks up, the edges of Tim’s cloak flaring and letting the hilt of his rapier show from the shadows of his cloak. The metal gleams wickedly in the dancing kerosene light. The wind gusts once more, and this time its strong enough for Cass’s hood to fall backwards, revealing more of her face.

The man startles like he’s been burned. “It’s you!” he growls, and Tim detects a hint of fear and wariness. Cass says nothing, but her hand tightens on Tim’s arm.

“Tell your leader,” says Cass coolly. “Will find later.”

“They know you?” mutters Tim under his breath. Cass tugs him along across the ditch. She doesn’t respond as she hurriedly drags him over the expanse of the bridge. “What, are you infamous around these parts?”

“Of a sort.” Cass glances behind them. “Faster,” she mutters under her breath. Tim chances a look of his own; the man who had fallen into the ditch is being helped up. Tim keeps pace with Cass easily, but their gait quickens.

“Get to inn. Leaky Goblet.”

“Are we meeting Stephanie there?”

“No. Too risky.”

“Wait. So is she going to stick around with Jason Todd’s crew?” Tim blinks incredulously. “We need to convince her to come with us.”

“No. Of our free choice.”

“ _Our_ …?” Tim trails off. “Are you…going with them, too?”

“…perhaps.”

“But why? They’re _pirates_. You both risked yourselves helping me – why return to them?”

“Tim,” Cass says gently. “We are…outlaws, too. Outcasts. But, more important….have unfinished business.”

“With Jason?”

“No. But unsafe. Under Jason…would have some protection, for short while. He is…not unfair to his crew. Rare.”

“So you’d…be formally introduced to his crew then, once I’m gone,” deduces Tim. “What if Harper recognizes you?”

“Will see.”

“I think you should reconsider. If Jason ever finds out –”

“Does not matter. Stephanie decided. Will follow her,” says Cass decisively.

“But, what if –” begins Tim, but Cass flings her arm in front of him, blocking his path. “What?”

“Sh.” Cass scans the surroundings. They’ve made it to the town, small huts and buildings scattered about. The roads are cobblestone, the buildings further in the town made of more solid constructs. And now that they’ve stopped, Tim feels unsettled. The sounds of nightlife echo faintly from far off, the street deserted and dark.

“We should get out of here,” mutters Tim. “It’s too quiet –” Cass pushes him aside roughly. Tim stumbles, gasping as a blade slices through the thin air where he’d been standing just seconds ago. The knife tears through his cloak; he cries out, startled as the weapon rips through the fabric just as Cass falls back, tugging him with her.

“Well, well, well.” The stranger who’d attack them backs up half a pace, regarding them coolly. His face is difficult to make out in the darkness. “It’s been awhile.”

“Tim,” murmurs Cass, and Tim doesn’t miss how her entire posture is on guard, poised to attack at a trigger’s notice. “Run.”

“Look,” mutters Tim from the corner of his mouth as he makes to pull out his rapier. “I know you can handle yourself, but I’m not about to leave a woman alone to defend herself against some asshole.”

“Tim. You will die,” states Cass flatly, and Tim feels a chill run down his spine at the icy, closed-off expression on her face as she regards the stranger.

“So,” says the man casually, advancing upon them. “Who’s your new companion? Did the blonde bitch finally run off on you?” He smiles coldly, twirling the slim dagger. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Cassandra. Did you think I wouldn’t catch up to you eventually?” Cass moves fluidly to stand between Tim and the man.

“Cass,” starts Tim,” but she’s already drawing a blade concealed within her sleeve. It’s slender but longer than the one the man is wielding as she adopts a guard stance, her eyes never once straying from their attacker.

“Not involved in this,” Cass says, her words clearly directed at Tim. “Stay out of it.”

“Isn’t he involved now, though?” The man smiles sharply. “Well, I’ll give you both a chance. Where are the children, Cassandra? Be a good daughter and tell your old man where they are.”

“Tim,” hisses Cass, falling into a crouch. “Go, _now_!” Her last words end as a shout as the man rushes forward and they meet in a clash of steel on steel. “The inn! Ask for –!” Her sentence is drowned out as their daggers clash again, sparks flying from the friction of the blades, but Tim hears her loud and clear. He hates himself for it as he sprints down the alley, hand on the hilt of his rapier. But when he reimagines the thinly-veiled fury on Cass’s normally stoic expression, the man’s smirk as he’d sought to kill Tim where he stood, he knew that once again, he would have only been a liability had he stayed.

His feet pound against the cobblestone; he chances a glance back, Cassandra and the man have their blades locked together, equally matched in strength as they wrestle for control. Suddenly the man pulls back; Cass rushes forward. Tim grits his teeth and prays to the heavens that Cass will prevail as he races down the grimy alley, leaving the sounds of clashing steel behind.

He races down the street until the alley ends, and then sprints blindly, running towards what he thinks is the city center. He's lost, but all he knows is that he has to put as much distance between himself and the man as possible and allow Cass to buy him as much time as she’s able to.

His lungs burn; he doesn’t know where he’s going, or how long he runs for. He passes through an archway, searching for a town plaza of some sort to orient himself better. If he can find a crowd, it’ll be easier to hide within it or to ask for directions. From what he's come to understand of Tortuga from the little information he's gleaned, he highly doubts he'd find someone willing to stop Cass's assailant. Eventually, he passes what appears to be a small town square, but it's largely deserted, with only the mild grunts of sleeping hogs in their pens. He keeps running. The noise of city life gradually loudens, signaling that he’s heading in the right direction. He rounds the corner –

“ _Ow_!” He crashes into a huge crate, staggering back winded and trying to catch his breath. He reopens his eyes –

 _Shit_.

His ribs slightly ache from where they’d collided with the edges of the crate. Tim stumbles backward another pace, shocked as he realizes that the crate in question is being carried by none other than Dick. The pirate is just as surprised as Tim if not more so, mouth slightly agape as he stares at Tim.

For several seconds, they stare at each other wordlessly. Tim recovers first; he panics as he attempts to get the blade out of his scabbard, fumbling desperately.

Dick starts forward. Tim flinches reflexively; the blade gets stuck halfway out of the scabbard as he prepares himself to fight -

“I saw nothing.” Dick’s voice is deceptively calm. “Go.” He brushes past Tim, the crate still in his hands. Tim freezes, a tiny part of his brain screaming that Dick would take advantage of his moment of hesitation to take him down. Yet Dick continues on his way. He passes through the archway and disappears from view, leaving Tim alone in the darkness of the Tortuga night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doubt any of you remember when Harper was complaining about provisions disappearing and blaming Roy for it from a previous chapter, but yeah, that was Cass being a moocher :P Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed! Comments and kudos are greatly loved <3


	16. Cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry for such a late update lol. Hope it's worth the wait!

Tim stumbles in his haste to get away from the square, feet hurrying away from where he had bumped into Dick. The cobblestone roads guide his way, but he gets lost more than once before he finally gets some sense of his bearings.

It’s visibly apparent that the bulk of Tortuga’s population is concentrated in this town. Tim is terrified he’ll bump into another one of Jason’s crew. He’s a long way from home and at this rate, it’s only a matter of time before he’s recaptured. Someone will eventually discover Harper and raise the alarm, and hell will follow shortly after. Tim has no doubt that any pirate or buccaneer on Jason’s ship knows this island more intimately than him. He needs to get off _pronto_.

The thought of facing Jason’s retribution for his escape stirs uneasily in the back of Tim’s mind. Angrily, Tim casts aside his doubts. There’s nowhere to go except onwards, wherever the Leaky Goblet is.

He has no desire to ask for directions, and the only person nearby to ask is a drunkard who’s currently passed out by a horse. Tim tip toes past him and counts himself lucky. He imagines the island’s inhabitants would sooner gut him than point him in the right direction.

Tim thinks hard. The majority of the taverns would probably be concentrated on the outskirts of the town, but Cass had led him inwards before they had been separated. Given that Tortuga seems to be a never-ending town of debauchery, he also wouldn’t be surprised if their taverns would simply be scattered haphazardly throughout the area. He starts inwards, checking cautiously down side streets and the well-lit areas while making sure his hood conceals his face.

He is reluctant to admit that the buildings have their own charm; they make for a stark contrast compared to the Gothic style he is so acquainted with. Buccaneers of every kind walk the town, a distinct swagger in their gait as they drink. Each one is armed to the teeth and equally foul smelling whenever Tim is unfortunate enough to be downwind of them. The stale smell of fecal waste linger in the streets and Tim hurries on, careful to give a wide berth between him and everyone else.

Tim passes a tavern; he peeks in. His heart nearly stops as he catches sight of several of Jason’s crewmembers, laughing merrily as they drink uproariously. He moves on.

He continues his search, nearly losing track of time; he estimates he’s been searching for the better half of an hour when the bell tower chimes ominously. Time is sliding away and he’s wasting it in all the wrong places. Right when he’s about to give up all hope, tension looming in his veins as panic threatens to make him hasty and clumsy, he spies a dimly lit street he hasn’t checked yet.

He wants to sob with relief when he sees the building’s wood carved sign: a precarious goblet overflowing to the brim with its contents sloshing over the sides. Just as he’s about to enter, he pauses at the door as he sidesteps a puddle. His reflection catches his eye in the dark water.

Tim hasn’t seen his face for the better part of months, and the stark difference astonishes him. His face has lost the scant remnants of baby fat that had determinedly clung to his cheeks; his jaw seems more angular with the scratch of dry stubble. His hair is longer as well.

 _Leaner and meaner_ , Tim thinks privately. He’s a very much different person than the boy who had left London in search for his parents, though he still hasn’t given up quite yet. Still, Tim can’t shake off the niggling thought that he’ll be a different person all over by the time he returns home.

He glances through the window to make sure none of Jason’s crew is there. Satisfied, he pushes open the door.

He failed to anticipate every pair of eyes redirecting towards him. Perturbed, Tim considers backing out of the doorway, but he doesn’t want to present himself as a weaker target. He catches the door just as it’s about to close on him and pushes inwards.

Making his way towards the counter, Tim ignores the shrewd stares sizing him up. Four in the corner smirk nastily, but continue talking in lowered tones. Two are sitting at the chairs right in front of the barkeep, matching each other shot for shot. Another pirate is simply passed out in the corner, and Tim has the horrible feeling that no one would care if he were dead or alive. Three glance in his direction but then continue with their game of cards.

He at first walks towards the counter, then changes his mind and takes a wall seat instead that faces away from the window. If he’s going to get his throat cut tonight, he’ll at least make it difficult for anyone who’s bloodthirsty enough to try. A busty tavern maid makes her way towards him.

 “What can I get for you?” she asks, accent sultry as she winks at him.

Her charm doesn’t hold a candle to Jason’s. Tim hates himself a lot for thinking that.

“I’m waiting for someone,” he says instead. Tim is fully aware that he needs to save his money, and he has no intention of spending it on spirits he doesn’t care for.

It’s very clearly the wrong answer, because she scoffs at him. “Well _obviously_ , honey, no one drinks alone here.”

No one except him, apparently. Within the folds of his cloak, Tim subtly loosens the drawstrings of the money pouch, unwilling to count his money publicly. By touch alone, he counts them slowly. His fingers feel the ridges and sizes of the coins as best as he is able.

He all but has a heart attack when his fingers brush against open air.

He doesn’t let his panic display on his face. There’s a hole in the bag. His fingers rub against the gaping opening; the ridges are frayed messily in a long, diagonal slash. With a restrained start, he remembers sound of ripping fabric when the man who had attacked him and Cass had slashed at him.

The knife had ripped clean through the money pouch. Tim, in his haste to get away and his mounting nerves, hadn’t even noticed.

He’s an idiot. A thorough, bumbling idiot. Right now, Cass could be anywhere or dead, or their attacker could be hunting him. Jason probably wants him dead too, and Harper at this point is probably furiously screaming or gnawing through the gag they’d shoved into her mouth if she hadn’t been found already.

He waits on edge for something or someone, stalling for time as he counts what few coins remain in his possession. He’ll have enough for two, maybe three days if he rations them out.

The tavern owners and maids are shooting him sour looks as he warms the chair without actually buying anything. Tim racks his brain, teetering on the brink of mounting frustration. The four men seated across from Tim have lowered their voices, and every so often one will covertly glance in his direction.

He has no allies in this room, that’s for sure. He sizes up the rest of the occupants, biting his lip as he considers his limited options.

At this point, he really only has one viable route.

He waves the barmaid over. “I’ll have one of your rums,” he says. The bar maid finally looks less disgruntled as a disgustingly lukewarm bottle is shoved towards him. Tim pushes his seat back as he stands up, walking over the three who had paid him the least attention.

“Enough room for another player?” he asks. Their heads turn to size him up once more, their card game briefly interrupted.

“Why not?” the largest man says, amused. His companions scoff at him.

“Lay off,” snorts the other. “You just want to end the game coz yer in a pinch right now.”

“I’m willing to wait,” Tim offers. The third one waves dismissively.

“A pretty face like yours? Perish the thought.” The pirate grins at him. “Oi, make room for him you lugs.” With some grumbling, the two men scoot for just enough space for Tim to squeeze between them and take a seat on the last side of the table.

“I was just about to make it big,” complains the second, as the third deftly reshuffles the cards.

“Sure you were – and then you’d lose it all in the next. Shut up and deal.”

The grumbling subsides as the cards are flicked out. Tim glances through their winnings before picking up his cards. The second and third pirates have decently sizable earnings, while the first is clearly not having a good night.

Tim takes a look as his cards; as he suspects, they are absolute garbage. It hardly matters at this point as he settles in and takes a swallow of his rum.

Time to see just how good of a teacher Jason was.

“So, where’re you from?” asks the second pirate, and Tim suspects it’s hardly a friendly question – testing the waters to get a feel of him.

“Bayaha.” Tim shrugs indifferently as he tosses his wager onto the table. Let them think he has some money to gamble. “And yourselves?”

“Bred and born here, all three of us,” winks the first man. It stinks of as huge a lie as Tim’s. “So, you waitin’ for someone?”

“Seems like the girl I called out to earlier changed her mind,” snorts Tim. “Pity. She was a pretty one.”

“Women,” scoffs the second. The third pirate glares at him. “Sorry,” he says hurriedly. He tosses two of his cards.

“But, I feel you,” adds the first pirate companionably. “You’d best get a whore, lad, if you’ve got the coin. You’ll find them on the south side of town. They’re less likely to gut you, just steal your clothes and your coin.”

Tim grins, letting a hint of his teeth show. “Who says I don’t know where to find them?” He laughs, tossing out most of his hand and redrawing.

“You don’t look like you’ve been here a day, mate,” laughs the second. “How long you been in _la tortue_?”

“Long enough to know I want to get off this island,” grins Tim. “Know anyone willing to offer passage?” There’s a blur of rapid exchange with the cards; Tim is hard pressed to keep up as he tries to memorize which cards are passing hands. He’s pretty certain by now this isn’t a standard deck; he’s counted at least five nines passing through devious wrist flicks and the aide of the second pirate who’s dealing.

“If yer looking to go home? Depends.” The first buccaneer is playing conservatively; he’s hesitant as his fingers idly reshuffle his hand. The third one is the hardest to read, expression perfectly blank save for the occasional short bark of laughter and grin at the occasional comment. “Fort Liberte’s there; not many people on this island here willin’ to pass by it, if you catch my drift.”

“Perhaps,” comments Tim, taking another swallow of the rum. It sears his throat, but he keeps talking through the burn. “But someone who’d be interested in a little money might.”

There’s a stir of interest in their eyes. “You come into a little plunder, mate?” The second pirate asks innocently.

“Maybe I did,” Tim says nonchalantly. “Or maybe I’m about to come into it about now.” Show of hands. Tim flips his cards over as the rest of the table does the same; he wins out by a narrow margin.

“Good game,” compliments the first pirate with a frustrated sigh as the second one glares at Tim.

“Lady Luck is favoring me tonight,” Tim says modestly as they shove the small pile of coins at him. He revels briefly in the ugly expression the second pirate is shooting at him, and Tim can imagine just a few of the choice words on the tip of his tongue. Still, Jason’s words ring true even now. _Accusing people with no proof on a pirate ship usually ends with blood, and if you can’t prove it, you’d better learn how to play the damn game better than they can._

The second round takes longer, the pirates warming to their new contestant. Tim, after some reluctance, is forced to fold early; he watches his meagre stack of coins diminish slightly once more and patiently waits for the other three to battle it out. He takes the opportunity to take another sip of rum; it renews the fire in his throat.

“If you ain’t enjoying that, I’ll take it,” scoffs the third pirate. “You drinking that like it’s poison.”

“Only if you pay for it,” snorts Tim. The pirate scowls a little, but reluctantly accedes.

“Fine, why the hell not? I ain’t drunk enough yet tonight.” Tim shoves his bottle towards her; she takes a long swig.

“Disgustingly warm, but what the hell, that’s what you get for cheap rum.” The round finishes up; she’s the clear victor this time. This time it’s Tim’s turn to deal; he’s been waiting for this. He might still be a novice at this, but Tim manages as he cuts the deck evenly and reshuffles, dealing out the cards evenly.

“You said you were looking for passage?” The second pirate glances at him again before looking through his cards. His face might be neutral, but Tim knows exactly what he has. It’s utter garbage.

“Yeah. To Bayaha, or close enough at least. I raise.” Tim throws in another small handful of coins.

“Hmm. Could talk to our captain.” The companions exchange meaningful glances.

“Yeah? What’s he like?”

“You’d have to find out for yourself, have the captain get a good look at you...” The pirate trails off meaningfully. Tim gets the hint.

“Tim. Tim Jackson,” he lies through his teeth. He really needs a better false name. He’ll get around to that once he’s off this godforsaken island.

“So Jackson, how’d you find yourself here?” the third pirate asks. “I call.”

“The honest truth?” Tim places a hand dramatically over his heart. “Woke up in a pigsty with a hangover fit to keel a horse and without a single piece of silver.” Tim rolls his eyes, and the three cackle at his expense. Apparently he smells just as foul as any other pirate if they believe that fabrication. “I finally got the money, and now I need to get home.” He keeps his cards as the other three discard their own; he hides a frown, distracted by the fact they’re not playing as he anticipated. There’s another subtle exchange of cards as they cheat each other blind, and Tim suspects there’s another ruse and he might be getting played for a fool.

“Y’know, we could probably use another cabin boy. Last one came down with scurvy. Poor bloke.” The second pirate shrugs as he takes his turn, replacing one card; Tim had anticipated him taking two.

“That’s unfortunate. Well, I don’t mind working for the duration of my passage,” shrugs Tim. “I suppose I’d work out the details with your captain?”

“Aye. That’s if the cap’n takes a liking to you. Who can say?”

Tim smiles as the round shifts to his turn. Internally, he’s screaming. The pirates have shaken up his moves; he senses that the flow of the game has changed. The first pirate hasn’t grown any more confident, the third pirate is as unreadable as ever, and the second pirate is the only one whose cards he knows for certain now. Tim’s hand is _good_ , but there’s something subtly  _off_ about the game that he can’t pinpoint.

It’s the very dredges of his money. Tim contemplates all-in and wagering down to the last coin. He knows the second one will fold to keep his money, the first one will as well due to his lack of confidence in his cards. The third pirate…it’ll be a gamble.

His lips thin. “I fold.” Tim acknowledges his defeat. The third pirate cocks her head knowingly.

“Reveal.” The cards are shown with easy wrist flicks. Tim glances through their cards.

Tim had had a full house, and somehow, _somehow_ – Tim’s mind rapidly flicks through the flow of cards through the game that had occurred, both honest and dishonest – it was the _second_ pirate who had won, with a perfect royal flush. The third pirate had had a four of a kind, and the first had another full house that narrowly edged Tim’s hand out by a narrow margin. Tim breathes a narrow sigh of relief – his decision to fold had been the correct choice. Well, at least he still has a day’s worth of meals, if he can survive out to morning. Tim is already making plans to flee the town and get out to the less densely populated areas of the island before Jason can catch wind of him.

“You have an uncanny instinct for cards, Jackson,” praises the second pirate. “So, who taught you?”

“A gentleman, if you catch my meaning,” responds Tim dryly.

“I’ll bet,” snorts the third pirate dryly. She tosses something into the air easily and catches it. The object catches the dim light of the tavern and flashes before being enveloped in her fist – and Tim all but has a heart attack.

“What the –” he says, because he’s pretty certain _that_ had been nestled in his pocket the entire time.

“So, tell me Tim,” the third pirate grins devilishly at him, leaning back in her chair as she tosses Jason’s earring in the air again. “What’s the real reason you’re looking for passage off Tortuga? We’re talking business now, not cards.” She waves the barmaid over again. “Get me some _real_ liquor, and a malt for my new friend here.” Tankards are filled to the brim and shoved towards them; she drinks and sighs in satisfaction.

“Now, _that’s_ the stuff. So, Tim, tell me about yourself.”

“I’d love to,” Tim responds just as easily though his heart is going to go into palpitations any second now, “but I think I deserve a fair introduction here, first.”

She grins. “Glad you finally asked. I’m the captain. I’m known to my enemies as Ravager, but you can call me Rose.”


	17. Showdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was not brought to you by: exams, work, a broken water main, spontaneous baking sprees, and no internet. Please enjoy lol.

“I’m known to my enemies as Ravager, but you can call me Rose.”

Tim narrows his eyes, and she tracks the movement with an ease that belies her one eye. “Heard of me, have you?” she laughs. She sets the deck of cards aside, signaling that it’s all business now. “What did Jason tell you about me? Or did you hear about my adventures from elsewhere?”

“Jason might have said a few choice words,” he says carefully. The two men around Rose are bigger than him and brawnier. There’s no easy way of getting around them and escaping from the tavern, and he has the sinking feeling that all the men in the Leaky Goblet sail under Rose’s flag. “But he didn’t tell me how easy you would be to find.”

Rose leans forward in interest. “Now _that’s_ something I didn’t expect to hear. Looking for me personally, hmm? Any... _other_ interest asides from getting off Tortuga?”

“I’ve some news you may have some interest in hearing,” shrugs Tim. The barmaid arrives, setting their drinks down. Tim eyes the malt suspiciously. Rose laughs at him, swallowing from her own flagon voraciously. When she sets the flask down, it’s already half empty.

“It ain’t poisoned, Jackson. Drink up. There’s better ways to kill ya, like a dagger through the stomach. Why, that malt wouldn’t even put a suckling babe to sleep.”

“Considering this seems like a place you often frequent, you appear to be pretty relaxed.”

“We’re on _land_.” Rose rolls her eyes. “We’re on land with good food, good company, and a good game of cards with money to be won. What else can you ask for?”

“If I were you, I’d be making haste out of port and into the open sea,” replies Tim nonchalantly. “But perhaps that’s just me.”

“What? Ain’t an enemy of mine who can waltz in here without me knowing.” Rose slams her flagon down with a hearty thud after a loud swallow. She wears her confidence well, but Tim suspects she’s on crumbling ground.

“What about a certain Deathstroke?”

The tavern goes dead silent. Tim keeps his expression carefully guarded as the merriment is snuffed from the room. All eyes in the room swivel around to stare at him without bothering to conceal the motions.

“You don’t say that name without good cause, boy.” Rose never takes her single eye off him, an action eerily similar to her father. Goosebumps race down Tim’s spine as he remembers the way Deathstroke could have easily strangled him without breaking a sweat. Ravager might not have the same lethal grip as her father, but he’s under no pretense that she couldn’t kill him if she wanted to. “Not in this tavern.”

“No,” Tim agrees. He keeps his hands carefully across the table where the rest of the room can see them. No sudden movements. “He could be here any day now.”

“How do I know what you’re saying is true, Jackson? It’s no secret on the oceans I’ve beef with Deathstroke.” Rose steeples her hands, elbows resting against the table surface.

“He paid a visit to the Sheila Hayward one day, two weeks sail from here. He thought you were still sailing with Jason.”

“ _Hah_ ,” she scoffs. The tension lifts from her shoulders as she relaxes slightly. “Then his info’s long outdated. I left Jason’s crew over a year ago. It’ll be awhile before he’s sniffing around Tortuga. He’ll probably wind around Hispaniola first, and then it’ll be off to Barbados for him.”

“Is it?” asks Tim dubiously. “Because from what I’ve gathered, you should be worried. There’s only so many places you can hide in the Caribbean.

Rose laughs. “They might say it’s a small world, Jackson, but don’t you ever believe that. The seas are huge, and all rivers lead to the ocean.” She gulps down the rest of her drink. “Thanks for the tip anyways, kiddo.”

“It’s Tim,” he says patiently. “But asides from whatever you did to throw him off your scent, it’s not going to last forever. You’ve been here for too long – and if I can track you down, so can he. Let’s say he’s realized the trail’s cold now. Where do you think he’ll sail to in order to get his next lead on your whereabouts?” Tim pauses to let that sink in. “Tortuga. It’s a buccaneer’s haven, and he knows for a fact that sooner or later, you’re going to be on this goddamn island. I’m actually surprised he didn’t find you before me.”

“Hm.” Ravager regards him with something akin to grudging admiration. “Your reasoning’s pretty sound, I’ll give you that. But now – back to your current predicament. Are you telling me this info in the hopes that I’ll give you a free ride to Bayaha? Because if you did, that was a pretty piss poor idea, Jackson.”

“There was a person who said you could help, and told me to come to this tavern to find you. But she wasn’t able to make it here tonight.” Tim frowns into the depths of his malt which still mostly untouched. “A woman called Cass. Does that name ring a bell?”

Ravager blinks in some surprise, the most telling emotion she’s expressed all night in front of Tim. “Cassandra Cain? Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Hell, I thought she was still over in the Orient.”

“She’s somewhere on Tortuga. We were separated.” He’s getting more comfortable with the tale he’s telling, now that it’s closer to the truth.

“Separated, huh?” Ravager squints at him. “Waylaid, were you?”

“Two people claimed they wanted a toll for their bridge.” Tim scoffs. “She declined.”

“The bridge over in the southern part of the island?” Rose bursts out laughing. “Hell, those were _my_ men. No wonder they came here crying about that earlier. That was you two, huh? So what happened after? They’re lucky she didn’t beat them black and blue.”

“I can’t say.” Tim hedges. “Someone had a score to settle with her. I had to leave her behind.”

“You _ran_? Well, aren’t you a piece of lily-livered scum.” She looks at him as if he’s worth less than the dirt on her boots. “There’s no place on my ship for cravens like you, Jackson. Get out of my sight.”

“It was her fight to settle; not mine,” argues Tim, but he can’t refute her point. Shame pools in his gut for having abandoned Cass. “But I intend to repay my debt.”

“ _Intend_ to? You can’t repay someone who might be dead.”

“She’s not dead,” Tim says with a certainty that surprises even him. “I know she isn’t.”

Ravager folds her arms, the smile gone from her expression. “There’s many with scores to settle with Cass, Jackson. The girl can handle herself, I warrant, but she ain’t got many friends here. Most don’t take kindly to her ‘round these parts, especially with her looks. But, tell me.” She leans forward. “So why shouldn’t I deliver you back to Jason? What’s in it for me if I help you?”

“Why not do it for the coin?” Tim flicks his one full piece of silver towards her. “Consider that an advance. You get the rest when I reach my destination. Like I said before, I’m willing to work for my passage.”

“Hmm.” She considers that for a moment, rolling the coin across her knuckles. It disappears and reappears in her dexterous fingers, and Tim is momentarily distracted by the motion. “Tempting. But does Jason value you enough to pay me more than what you can offer?” She smiles widely, sharp and menacing. “It’s not every whore he runs into that he makes his woman, you know.”

“If I said he didn’t, would you believe me?”

“No,” she admits with an ease that Tim had anticipated. “But...I’ll make you an offer.”

Tim blinks, caught off guard and unable to hide it. “I’m listening.”

She licks her lips, a slow smile spreading across her face. “As it so happens, I’ve a small score to settle with Cassandra myself. A rematch, if you will.”

“A duel?” asks Tim despite himself.

“Nothing quite so formal, but yes, essentially. I was disgraced in our last bout, ashamed as I am to admit it. But if she’s here, I want a rematch. Give me that, and you’ll get your passage to Bayaha.”

“And what if you die?” Tim furrows his brow.

“You have my word that my men will take you to your destination if you can arrange this, regardless of the outcome.”

“Words are meaningless.” Frustrated, he takes a larger gulp of his drink. It goes down easier this time. “Dueling terms should be arranged by whoever would be your seconds.”

“So be her second,” goads Rose, eye gleaming in the dim light of the tavern. “Unless you’re craven, that is.” She tosses the silver piece back to Tim. “I’ll even give you free passage. You’ll have to work for your bread, though.”

“It’s a good deal, Jackson,” offers one of the pirates. “Hell, I’d take it if I were in yer boots.”

“It is,” agrees Tim. He stands up, exhaling slowly. “It’s been a pleasure, Rose, gentlemen.” He regards each of them with a nod of his head. “But I’ll find passage elsewhere. Thank you for your time.”

“Oh?” Rose crooks her head. “The terms not good enough for you, coward?”

“I won’t drag Cass into this for my own sake,” says Tim firmly. “She’s been involved long enough when she had no reason to risk herself. I owe her my life, Rose. I won’t betray her confidence by forcing her into some duel to sate your petty retaliation when she’s not even present.”

Slowly, Ravager nods. She looks at him approvingly. “You’ve got mettle I can’t help but appreciate, Jackson. Pity that negotiations fell through. But hey, I’ve another idea.”

“Which is?”

“Kill you and take your silver.” Her lackeys move as one, gripping Tim by the shoulders and hauling him up painfully. He struggles, shouting as he’s slammed across the table and held in place. His rapier is taken away like it’s a mere toy. Smiling broadly, Ravager stands up and pulls her pistol from her belt. Nobody in the tavern moves to help him, all spectators to his execution. She takes an eternity to finally point the barrel down at him, smirking at his useless struggles. The first man slams his head down against the surface, holding him pinned as she presses the barrel against his forehead.

“Really, Jackson, it’s not a personal thing. Trust me. You’re a pretty boy, and I’m sure we could have gotten along in a different life. But, it is what it is.” she sighs dramatically. She nods to her men. “Search him.”

Tim snarls but a hand cuffs him hard against the back of his neck, silencing him as they feel through his pockets.

“Hell, Rose, he ain’t even got enough for two meals.” They toss his ripped pouch onto the table where it forlornly collapses, his precious few coins clinking against the surface where they spill from the tear.

“Seriously?” Instead of the anger Tim anticipates, Rose laughs in genuine amusement. “You talk a good game, Jackson. Under most circumstances, I’d ask you to join my crew, but looking at you, you don’t have much sailing experience. To me, seems like you’re only a couple drops of blue blood short of being an aristocrat, with the way you talk all fancy like you’re better than us.”

“I never thought that,” gasps Tim from where his cheek is being smushed into the wood.

“Sure.” Ravager downs the rest of his malt and belches crudely. “Well, I don’t want to draw this out any longer. Any last words? And stay still, I don’t want your guts in my drink.”

“Fu-” Tim begins. The tavern door swings open with an obnoxious creak, interrupting him mid-word.

“Rose,” barks Jason, striding into the room and into the center. His coat blazes behind him in angry crimson. Roy and Kori flank him, their presence loud and vibrant in the tavern halls. “We need to talk – _what the_ _hell_.”

“Tch.” Rose clicks her tongue. From his low vantage point, Tim senses that she’s not all that perturbed. “Jason. I suspected you’d be around sooner or later.”

“Rose,” Jason says carefully. Tim can’t see his expression from where Ravager’s lackey is still pressing his face into the table, but he has no doubt that it’s priceless. “Care to explain what’s happening?”

“Your pretty little woman came to me begging for help,” Rose smiles sardonically as she eases out from her chair to greet him. They meet in the center of the room, only a few footfalls from each other. “Where’d you pick up such a pretty thing like him?”

“Out on the open sea, like most of my things,” Jason responds. He still sounds slightly bemused, but the cockiness of his tone hasn’t diminished in the slightest. “Seems to me like you’re trying to murder him. I don’t appreciate that, Rose. He’s a helluva lot to maintain.”

“Murder tends to be inevitable when people try to cheat me.” Rose’s lackey releases his grip on Tim’s head, allowing Tim to crane his neck up to watch Jason and Rose. “He was trying to buy passage from me to get off Tortuga. Doesn’t seem like you treated him well, if he’s turning tail and running. Traitorous little bastard, if you ask me.”

Tim instinctively tries to meet Jason’s eyes, but Jason is determinedly avoiding his gaze as he focuses solely on his former crew mate. “Don’t go reading too much into it, Rose. He’s mine, and if you harm a hair on his head...” he trails off pointedly. His hands are loose at his hips, fingers a hair-breadth away from his weapons.

“Oh, Jason,” Ravager coos mockingly. “So you _do_ care about him. Fancy that. I’m surprised, though. He’s just...so different from everyone else you tried to have something with.” Rose walks back over to Tim, and Tim hisses as she pinches his cheek. “Well-bred, naive, and frankly, pretty weak. Did his taste change while I was gone, Kori?”

Kori narrows her eyes at Ravager. “Rose, you might know Jason well, but do not lay a hand on Timothy. His blood means our wrath.” Her expression is furious, and only Roy’s calming hand on her shoulder seems to be keeping her from launching herself at Ravager.

Ravager crooks an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Jason. He tried to cheat me out of a fair game. Did you teach him all those card moves? That’s what tipped me off – he plays like you. Reckless, talented, and three steps ahead of everyone, or so he’d like to think.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jason smiles coldly. “Rose, if you’d be so kind to hand him back over -”

“Why should I?” Ravager interrupts. “He’s _adorable_. You’re not using him to his full potential. If you gave him a little more leeway...why, I wager he’d be an excellent addition to any crew. My crew, specifically.” Ravager snaps her fingers and her men force Tim into a normal sitting position once more. This time, he has a clear front view seat of Jason. Rose steps next to Tim, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look right at Jason. “I think I’ll snap him up for myself after all, I think. He’s a real treasure, this one. Almost as delectable as you.” She presses a quick kiss to Tim’s cheek before he can react. Tim seizes up, eyes wide as he tries to gauge just exactly how livid Jason is.

“ _Ravager_.” Jason takes a threatening step forward, but Rose's men all aim their weapons at him before he even puts his foot down.

“Go back to your ship, Jason.” Ravager rolls her eyes. “You’re outnumbered here and outgunned. This is my territory.”

“I came to warn you.”

“About Deathstroke? Don’t bother, I already know about him.”

Jason shoots a sharp, disbelieving look at Tim. Tim doesn’t know which side he’s rooting for anymore, if he’s even rooting for either one. “He’s tracking you.”

“Don’t be dumb,” scoffs Ravager. “You think I don’t know how my father operates?”

“All I’m saying, is -”

“You _idiots_ ,” Tim blurts, unable to take it anymore. Jason and Ravager turn to stare at him. “Don’t you guys _get_ it? Why do you think Deathstroke let the Sheila Hayward sail on without a skirmish and without any bloodshed? He was tracking you through _Jason,_ because he thought that he’d go her last known whereabouts to warn her!”

The tavern freezes for a moment. Jason snorts as he addresses Tim for the first time since their unexpected early reunion. “Kid, you’re talking out of your ass. Give up. Deathstroke sailed northeast of us when we parted ways, we would have seen him tailing us -”

_Blam!_

The shot ricchochets around the room. The noise reverberates throughout the tavern. One of the men holding Tim captive falls to the floor, a bullet hole in his head.

“Get down!” bellows Ravager. The tavern churns into action. The other lackey kicks the table over as a shield as gunfire rains from the entrance. Jason and his crewmates are nowhere to be seen as Tim is deafened by the roar of gunfire into the tavern. Ale and whiskey and other spirits slosh onto the floor. Tim curls up behind the bullet-ridden table, covering his ears in a panic.

The bullet storm ends as abruptly as it began. The tavern's occupants warily poke their heads around their makeshift shields to try and spot their aggressors.

“Ravager,” calls the recognizable voice of Deathstroke from beyond the entrance. The distinct sound of multiple muskets and other firearms reloading arises from the dusty, bloody silence. “I know you’re still alive and kicking. Come on out before I set fire to this whiskey-soaked hovel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this so far, and thank you so, so much for putting up with my unplanned hiatus lol. You guys all rock.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take a break from Lust Incarnate, so here we are lol. I don't know if I'll add to this, but if you guys liked it and want more leave a comment!


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